


Little Lion

by Clicker



Series: A Song of Gold [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, Angst, F/M, Fluff, House Lannister, Jon Snow/Reader - Freeform, Lannister reader, Multi, Teen Pregnancy, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23689576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clicker/pseuds/Clicker
Summary: You’d met Jon snow when you and your family had traveled to Winterfell. You had formed a secret relationship with him in the time before he went to the Night’s Watch. And now you where facing the consequences of your last night with Jon Snow.
Series: A Song of Gold [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705960
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter One

The warmth was consuming. The covers you’d buried yourself under last night trapping in the heat over your body. The sunlight peeking into your room through the shutters of your room hitting your eyelids.

It had been a month and a half since you’d been in Winterfell. A month and a half since you’d last seen him. Coal like black hair which fell in curls around his face. The dark brown eyes which held so much emotion you wouldn’t be able to get out with in the two fortnights you’d been there.

And you didn’t.

Your eyelids fluttered open only to have the sting of the bright light hitting your eyes. Snapping your eyes shut once more you rolled your body over to face the door way. Opening them once more to see the lightly colored stone that made up the four walls of your room. You hated it here.

You could hear the sound of your mother outside of the door talking to your handmaiden. You couldn’t make out what they where saying but you could make out their voices.

Closing your eyes once more you pulled the covers over your head to shield you from the sun’s rays hitting the back of your head. The sound of the heavy wooden door squeaking as it opened you swear could be heard from Dorne.

“Come here my little lion.”

You wearily pulled the covers from your face to see your mother rushing towards you. “I heard you weren’t feeling well.” She said pulling the blanket away from your head completely to get a look at you.

“You don’t look very well little lion.” You laughed slightly and nodded your head. “I don’t feel very well mother.”

You were nauseous, your abdomen had pains, you were exhausted, you had a headache, your back hurt and your chest was tender.

“Your grace? Should I inform Maester Pycell of her condition?” Your handmaiden was sweet. Caring towards you, Myrcella and Tommen. Her name was Miza and she used to just be an orphan peasant girl down in King’s Landing. If not for your uncle Tyrion she would have starved to death on the streets

“Yes, Miza. Thank you.” Your mother replied curtly brushing some of your golden hair behind your ear. “You are going to be alright little lion. You will be chasing Tommen down the corridors again in a few days.” She said with a smile

You two sat like that for the minutes. With you looking around the room wearily while your mother stroked your tangled golden hair in worry. You where the second oldest child of Cersei and Robert Baratheon. The oldest daughter Cersei had, and gods did she love you. The moment the Septa had handed you to her she was in amazement. She had believed that you where the best thing that she ever made.

You remembered the story your father had told you. How she wouldn’t even let him near you for at least a month.

“Your grace.”

Your eyes dashed over to the Maester as he entered your chambers. You hadn’t even heard the door open. Maybe you were so out of it you didn’t register the door squeaking open and closed. Or maybe witches were real like all the stories your septa had told you.

“Maester Pycell” Your mother greeted.

Your mother always had a distaste for Maester Pycell, not that you knew why she did. You usually minded your own business, having been told that was what ladies did.

“How are you princess?”

You where able to force a weak smile and a small shrug of the shoulder that was facing the ceiling.

There was an abundance of questions, from the Maester, most of the answers he seemed to dislike. You where forced to sit up with the help of your mother so he could take a proper look at you to see what was wrong.

“Miza says you’ve been throwing up the food she tries to give you?”

You nodded as you rested your head on your mother’s shoulder. Her grip on your waist tightened very slightly. You could practically see the worried look on her face even though you weren’t facing her

“Yes” You replied looking up at him as he wrote in a book with his quill. She didn’t understand why he thought to write down into a book

“Maester Pycell? Why are you writing this down?” You questioned feeling your eyebrows furrow in confusion without you even making them.

“When was the last time you bled?”

Was he avoiding your question? You watched as he placed a stray sheet of parchment on the page he was writing on so he could find it again as he then turned to another page.

“Two months ago?” It came out as more of a question. But at the answer you gave your mother stiffened. And out of the corner of your eye you could see her look up from the covers to Maester Pycell. You craned your head to look up at your mother as she gave Maester Pycell a stern look. She’s seen that look before. The look she gave someone when they where about to say something she didn’t want to hear.

“Princess, if you don’t mind me asking. Have you lost your maidenhood?”

Your mother’s face then contorted into a look of anger. “I think thats quite enough Maester Pycell” She said firmly

“Yes.” You answered quickly looking to the Maester trying to stay composed as his lips went into a straight line.

“Your symptoms seem to point to the conclusion that you’re with child. I shall go tell the king.”

Your heart dropped, You could remember what he had said to you.

_“Y/N, I don’t think we should. I don’t want to put a bastard in your belly.”_

You had convinced him that it’d be fine. That you wouldn’t fall pregnant with his child. It felt like the entire world stopped. Like you where looking at him again right after he’d said it. How he looked worried even at the thought of you carrying his bastard.

You could feel your mother leave your side quickly and the sound of your door slamming shut and something hitting it which snapped you out of you trance “You tell Robert and I’ll have your head on a spike before supper!” Your mother growled. She had him by the collar of his clothing and shoved against the door. You could see the fear in his eyes as they locked with Cersei’s certainly fiery eyes. “Do not tell the king” She said firmly before letting him go. He’d nodded and rushed out the door.

Your mother turned to you with a small sad smile. “What happened my little lion? I thought you’d wait until you were married.” She had tears in her eyes

You could feel tears start to swell in your eyes. “I loved him” You choked out before the tears fell onto your cheeks and the sobs began to rack through your body.

The next thing you knew your mother had you in a firm hold. Your head against her chest, her chin resting atop your head and her arms wrapped firmly around you.

“It’s okay little lion, I’ll get you through this”

* * *

“I don’t think I should really be seen with you.”

“And why’s that?”

“You’re the king’s daughter, and i’m the bastard of Winterfell.”

You had a smile on your face before you looked up and to your left to see him smiling down at you as well. Those eyes looked so dark as you stood there in the Godswood. But oh how they sparkled. His hair fell around his face as he then looked down the grass by his feet.

“Who do you suggest I should be seen with?”

“Robb.”

You didn’t mean to laugh but you did. You could admit that the future lord of Winterfell was handsome, but he seemed to have other priorities than you. And he wasn’t your type. He wasn’t the brooding kind like Jon was.

“What? What’s so funny?” He questioned curiously which just made you laugh even harder. Gripping your stomach you slouched over as the laughing began to hurt your sides.

You felt him grab your hips before turning you to him “What are you laughing about?“ He questioned.

Your laughter died down as you saw another smile on his lips. He looked good with a smile like this one. The kind where the outer corners of his eyes crinkled. Your smile got a bit smaller until it was just a grin.

“If I wanted to be seen with Robb I would be around him more.” You admitted

“What do you mean?”

You lost control of yourself. You where just a few inches away from his lips. You right hand had come up and cupped his left cheek. Your thumb stroking the soft skin on his jaw. Your smile was gone completely as you just stared up at him.

“Kiss me.” You murmured to him.

He wasn’t backing away, his hands where still on your hips as he stared right back at you.

“I-I do-n’t think I sh-should” He stammered

“I think you should.” You encouraged with a new gentle smile coming up onto your face.

“As your princess, I command you too.” You joked.

He’d only smiled at you before one of his hands snaked to the small of your back and the other stayed on your waist. He pulled you a bit closer to him. You took a step towards him and brought your other hand up to his other cheek and pulled him down connecting your lips with his.


	2. Chapter Two

You where a Baratheon. You were supposed to be stronger than this. Your father defeated the mad king along side Ned Stark.

_Gods be damned_

You thought this would be easy. You thought you could hide this. That binding your growing stomach down with bandages would fix the problem. It just made it harder to breathe when you where already gasping for air.

You were supposed to do exactly what your father had started planning. You were supposed to reach seventeen, be married off to some rich lord with too much gold for the next three generations of his family and then start having children.

You didn’t regret this by any means, if this was all you were ever going to have of Jon the rest of your life than so be it, but gods you hated the nausea that was associated with it.

“Y/N? I think something’s really wrong. You do this everyday.”

Myrcella was always a caring person. Always having a worry for everyone. When Bran had fallen while climbing and they didn’t know if he would recover she had been so worried for him. So now that you where vomiting everything you had eaten at breakfast into a bucket you couldn’t imagine the look on her face.

“I’m fine Myrcella.” You gasped pulling away from the bucket and wiping your mouth with your hand.

“No you’re not.”

You looked up at her only to catch her worried face looking down at you. You had to tell someone. Your mother knew and the Grand Maester did as well as the Septa and your handmaiden. But Miza’s role in this was to try and help to hide the pregnancy as long as you possibly could. The septa was just there to educate you on your pregnancy and what it would be like when you went into labour. You needed someone who wasn’t your mother and who would hold you when a round of crying decided to hit you in the face all of the sudden.

Those were some of the worst moments. Whenever you would remember something from your few weeks with Jon. How full of himself he could be at one moment and then become so caring in the blink of an eye. The moments he would grab your hands to warm them, claiming that because you where a southerner that you weren’t used to the cold and that you should kept warm. You used to sneak out of the chambers that the Stark’s had gracefully given you to sneak into Jon’s. The two of you would just stare at the ceiling together while wrapped under the covers, hands clasped together tightly.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Y/N? Why are you crying?” Myrcella asked grabbing hold of your hands with one of hers before she started to wipe tears away from your eyes.

“Cause I’m not very happy right now.” You replied giving her a sad smile and squeezing her hand gently.

“Tell me what’s wrong Y/N”

You thought it through so quickly. If you told her, she wouldn’t be able to tell anyone. She couldn’t tell anyone. If your father found out… You knew he loved you but you also knew he didn’t think he should have become a father, you also knew this would bring shame to him and the entire family.

You’d heard stories of high born women who carried a bastard child to full term. Who’s titles and name were revoked. That they were cast out as soon as the child had born, that they themselves had to bare the same bastard name as their children.

You were the Queen and King’s daughter. So many people would try to hurt you and the baby if they learned you had been cast out. But you’d take the risk. Many high born women would try to kill their children in the womb, or try to hand the child off to someone else.

You couldn’t do that, and you wouldn’t. You where sixteen but gods knew you already loved your child. You could practically already see their pale skin and curly black hair like their father.

“Myrcella…I’m with child. But you can’t tell anyone!” You blurted out seeing the shock cross her face as you had changed position to be on your knees, too weak to fully stand but enough energy to get up closer to her.

“Y/N-“

“Promise me! Promise me you won’t tell anyone!”

Myrcella’s eyes where dashing all over your face, examining your eyes which were red and puffy from crying, your nose pink, and your hair strewn messily over your shoulders in knots. She was hesitant to agree that she wouldn’t tell anyone, seeing the state you were in you needed help. You looked so scared and so ready to burst into tear again.

But she saw that you also needed her in this moment of need.

“I promise.”

She didn’t even have time to register you pulling her to her knees so you could hug her in appreciation.

“I love you so much Myrcella.” You mumbled resting your chin on her shoulder

“I love you too Y/N…Let’s get you dressed, you should pay a visit to Lord Stark.”

* * *

When you saw Lord Stark on the bed under blankets as he just stared off into space, you felt horrible. Knowing that your uncle had started this just because he had decided he no longer wanted to be the ‘hand of the king.’

“Lord Stark?” You asked knocking on the archway of the open door.

He looked up at you and gave a kind smile as he saw you wearing the yellow and black dress with your hair done up with a medal band with antlers that looked more like tree branches carved into it holding it all together.

“Princess Y/N, come in.”

You smiled at him before taking a step into the room, reaching for the handle of the door and pushing it closed until you could her the click of it latching. Your turned back to him and smiled before walking over to the chair next to the bed.

“How are you feeling Lord Stark?”

“Please, call me Ned.” He corrected giving you a weak pained smile as he tried to sit himself up.

Your instinct told you to help him so you did. Grabbing his forearms and helping him sit up. “Well, _Ned,_ How are you feeling?” You asked backing up to sit back back down into the chair after he was sitting up

“Better than I was before”

You gave a smile and nodded slightly. Your uncle was impulsive. But you didn’t know the full story behind it He had fled the city right after the incident.

“I apologize for my uncle. He’s always been reckless. Impulsive.” You stated playing with your nails.

“He butchered my men, but he didn’t do this.” You looked up see him gesture to his thigh. You let out a small laugh.

“He may be reckless, but he is a man of honor. He wouldn’t stab a man from behind. He likes a fair fight.” You responded with a small smile

You got a smile back from him.

“I heard Bran woke up? Sorry I wasn’t able come sooner to say that i’m thankful he’s alive.”

“It’s alright. I heard you weren’t feeling very well.”

You nodded swiftly falling into a peaceful quiet. There was so much going on, the death of Jon Arryn, Going to Winterfell. Meeting Jon… Then everything that happened once you got back.

* * *

“I can’t unfeel your pain, I can’t undo what’s done, I can’t send back the rain” You sang barley above a whisper. Your right hand resting on his chest and the left stroking his hair. You’d been in your chambers for an hour now. He’d came in angry, something about his father’s Ward; Theon Greyjoy saying something about him being a bastard and how one day Theon would retake the Iron Islands. You’d spent an hour trying to get him to calm down. Only until a few minutes ago he was still fuming. Eventually he had thrown himself onto your bed like a petulant child before turning to face the ceiling. You had crawled onto the bed yourself, and pulled him over for his head to rest on your lap.

“But if I could I would my love, my arms are open” He was looking at you almost peacefully now. His eyes looking into yours. His hands clasped together and resting on his stomach.

“So when you feel like you can’t take another round of being broken my arms are open”

You had stayed there for another ten minutes, Staring at each other with small smiles on your faces as you sang the songs your mother used to sing to you every night. Her singing having been the only thing that could put you to sleep.

“The King’s daughter.” He chuckled out to himself after awhile

“What?” You asked

“Who would’ve thought that King Robert’s oldest daughter, probably spoiled to no end, would find a bastard’s company appealing.” He breathed out

“You’re a pretty handsome bastard.”

He laughed at your response making you join in at the sound of his laughter, which you so rarely heard from him.

You’d met him six days ago and already you’d fallen so deeply in love with him. You’d felt honored he came to you to vent about Theon and for your comfort which you happily gave to him. You just let him talk about him. How he was sick of Theon saying he was going to go back to his homeland, and become ‘Lord Theon Greyjoy’ once his father died.

“No but seriously, Your better to have around than anyone in King’s Landing.” The admission was painful but truthful all at the same time.

Your sister was being trained to become the perfect lady, your brother had his head so far up his own ass he couldn’t see anything but his own guts which gave him disgusting suggestions. Tommen was so innocent and usually was off doing his own thing unless it was the rare occasion he provoked you to chase him through the castle because he thought it was fun to see you try to run in your gowns. Your father was doing his kingly duty and your mother… While she loved her children, always seemed to be scheming. The handmaidens always sucked up to you, the septa always talking down to you because your sticking was as good as Myrcella’s or your mother’s.

Jon was the best thing you’d come across in a long time. Often times you’d see him looking at you whenever he saw you from across the courtyard.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do… I do mean it.”

You were snapped out reliving the memory when Ned asked if you were okay. You’d looked at him almost lost. Brows raised in confusion

“Pardon?”

“I asked if you were alright, princess.” He repeated giving you a strange look as you slowly nodded

He was the father of Jon. Jon had just as much Stark blood in him as Arya, Sansa or their brothers. She could trust him.

“May I tell you something?”

“Of course, Princess. Anything.”

You looked up at him and gave him a small smile before opening your mouth to speak


	3. Chapter Three

You’d taken to sticking right next to Lord Stark. You’d confided in him, and all he’d done was hold his hand out for you to take, and when you did he’d pulled you into a tight hug. Rubbing your back and telling you it’d be okay. He’d comforted you even when he was pain.

* * *

“I’m with child.”

He’d tensed up looking at you as your confident face went into a worried gaze down to the stone floor.

“How far along are you?”

You looked back up at him. You were stronger than this. You always had been. You’d usually laugh to prevent yourself from crying. Something only Jon had been able to find out about you. Yet lately you haven’t been able to keep tears to yourself, or for when you were alone. This was something you couldn’t laugh to yourself about.

“Three moons.”

He nodded and looked away to the wall in front of him before he began to think about why you would tell _him._ He wasn’t family to you, he wasn’t very close to you or your mother, who you seemed to cling to for protection much like your two younger siblings. He wasn’t related to the baby- Wait.

“Princess…Why are you telling me this?” He questioned looking you straight in the eyes as if he would find his answer written out for him to just read. Then he began to think. The conversation he’d had with Robb a week into your stay in Winterfell

“ _I don’t mean to cast bad luck on Jon, but I do believe the princess fancies him”_

He was able to put it together as you then looked down again to your stomach placing a hand on the very small bump that looked like nothing under your dress. You could see him from the corner of your eye hold his hand out for you.

* * *

Ser Gregor Clegane was to be stripped of all titles and land… The mountain had gone missing after he slaughtered his own horse when Lorras Tyrell had beat him in a jousting tournament. So he’d gone and slaughtered people and burned down buildings.

He was a scary man, standing at seven feet tall he was the tallest man you’d ever seen.

“Ned!”

Your turned your head and body to behind you, to see Renly, your uncle rushing towards you, Ned, and Tomard.

“It’s Robert! We were hunting a boar and-“

He was covered in blood and his shirt was disheveled He turned back around to rush back to your father’s chambers.

You hadn’t hiked up your gown and run since before you left for Winterfell. But in an instant you grabbed a fistful of your dress and pulled it up before pushing your way past the guards who had escorted your uncle and even past him. He was in shock. He was looking at his hands when you passed him, they were shaking. You couldn’t get a good look at him while you ran to the room your father was in.

You barged into the room to see Robert with Joffery.

“Oh my sweet girl.” He said weakly gesturing for you to come over to him. You walked faster than you needed to over to him, planting yourself firmly next to your brother. A foot farther away from Robert.

“I should have spent more time with you as well Y/N.” He said sadly.

“Shown you how to ride a horse like you wanted to, taken you all across Westeros. I should have taken you both.”

You heard the footsteps of both Ned and Tomard coming into the room.

“Go you two. You don’t want to see this.”

All you could do was stare at him while Joffery stood up going to walk out. You could feel his hand wrap around your forearm as he pulled you up and away from the bed. And out of the door.

* * *

The King was dead. You never knew how hard this was going to be. To be forced to sit next to your mother in the throne room with your brother sitting on the iron throne. The throne that your father had once sat in. The throne that vaguely smelled of wine and rust.

“Why are we here?”

You were confused you wanted to go back to your room. To lay on your bed and cry for everything that had begun to happen.

“Hush, Little Lion”

Ned Stark was being summoned to the throne room. To stand in front of your brother and bend the knee for him. Ned Stark was honorable man. You’d never seen or heard of him being loyal to any ruler but your father. So you had this horrible pit in your stomach that something would happen. And if it did, would his daughters be safe? Sansa, maybe. But Arya…You didn’t know what Joffery would command to be done to her.

“I command the council to make all necessary arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned in the fortnight.”

Looking from your brother to Ned you could see a sense of distrust in each other. Ned seemingly confused about the situation, your brother ready to pounce. Just like the half Lion he was.

“Today I will except oaths of fealty, from my loyal councilors.”

This was all becoming unbearable. Watching your 16 year old brother try to act like your father. Trying to be as honorable as him. You weren’t much younger than your brother. Not even born a full year after him. He was born early in the year, you were born 10 months right behind him. You knew everything about him. You’d been bathed together, played together, did everything together just like a set of twins would. So as you grew older you came to find how loose your brother’s screws were. Your father had seen it the day he’d killed a cat.

“Ser Barristan, I believe no man here could ever question your honor.” Ned started as he took out a rolled up sheet of parchment and held it out so Ser Barristan could take it.

The man walked forward a few steps to take the parchment from the Warden of the north. You watched as he turned the paper to look at a silver seal.

“King Robert’s seal, unbroken.”

Your interest was peaked. You felt a hand on your shoulder push you back. Your mother’s hand pushing your leaning forward form. Noticing this you went back to your position from just a few seconds ago.

Ser Barristan began to read the letter spoken by your father and without a doubt written by Ned himself.

Ned was named protector of the realm. The regent until your brother came of age to rule the seven kingdoms.

A smile of almost pure relief spread across your face. You could feel a certain warmth encase your body until your mother stood up and walked over to Ser Barristan

“May I see that?”

You watched as your mother took the paper from the King’s Guard. She had taken it and scanned it over probably selecting the few words she decided were important.

“Protector of the realm?” She questioned turning the sheet to the side and pinching it with her index and thumb of both hands and ripping it in half.

“Is this your shield Lord Stark? A piece of paper.”

You saw the four parts of the paper that had made up the letter flittering down to the ground as Ser Barristan began to speak once more

“Those were the kings words.”

“We have a new king now.”

It went on. Your mother commending Ned Stark to bend the knee for your brother. Saying they would allow him to go home to Winterfell if he did so.

“Joffery has no claim to the throne!”

You stiffened. Your body went so painfully stiff that you could feel yourself make your throat tighter, and condensing your chest to the point were it hurt to breath.

What did he mean?

Joffery was King Robert’s oldest legitimate child. Not counting your brother who had been born years before the two of you were even a thought Who had died in the cradle.

“Ser Barristan, seize this traitor!”

That was your cue to leave.

Your mother would have Arya and Sansa brought to her. Sansa was safe, she was betrothed to Joffery. Septa Mordane would keep her safe. Arya was your priority.

You got up from your seat before your mother had turned back and ran for the corridor to the side of the castle Ned and his family were staying at. Arya had those dancing lessons that Sansa had complained to you about often.

You hiked your dress once more and ran for the youngest Stark girl. Already hearing the sound of swords hitting up against each other in a fight.

You’d swerved through halls and down stairs until you came down a small set of 8 steps just to see Arya looking around worriedly with a torch in hand.

“Arya!” You exclaimed.

She froze in her tracks looking you up and down her knuckles turning white as she gripped onto the torch tighter

“Stay back!”

“Arya!” You growled at her

“Your men just killed Syrio! How do I know you won’t take me up to the queen?”

Smart girl

You had a nervous smile cross your face. “Arya, You have to believe me, Sansa will be kept alive. She is to marry my brother and become queen within the year. I don’t know what they will do to you. I have to make sure you’re safe.” You said holding out your hand for her to take.

She looked from your face to your hand back to your face before slowly reaching out for your hand as well.

You gave her a sincere smile as your grip tightened as you began to run down another flight of stairs to get her away from the fighting.

You could hear her mumbling something to herself about something to do with today.

_Not Today?_

You had let her lead you the rest of the way to the stables. Horses in their pins while she rushed to a cart with dead men around it.

“Needle.” She murmured to herself. You decided not to question it, worried what the answer may be. Walking over to the cart you looked out for any guards. Any of your Mother’s men who would try to hurt Arya.

“Stay Away!”

The sound of a sword piercing flesh caught your ears You turned to see Arya with the thinnest sword impaled into the stomach of the stable boy. You could see the shock Arya’s face.

She was scared of them. “Let’s go!” She said pulling her sword out of his body and running towards you grabbing your hand and dragging you along with her.

* * *

“She’s your favorite sister isn’t she?”

“No! She’s just… Always been kinder to me, she’s always treated me like I was her full brother.”

You looked at Jon with a large shit eating grin before continuing

“So…She’s your favorite sister?”

He’d shook his head before turning his head to you to see the grin plastered on your face.

“You’re hopeless.” He joked turning his body to lay on his side to look at you.

“How’d I get so lucky to have you?” He questioned mainly to himself as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Almost as if he could hear your response already he added to his previous statement. “Don’t answer that question.”

You laughed at the statement taking his hand and intertwining your fingers with his.

“Can you make me a promise?”

“Of course Jon”

“If anything happens in King’s landing. Promise me you’ll protect Arya?”

“What about Sansa?”

“She’s promised to the future king. Arya isn’t. Septa Mordane would give her life for Sansa if it meant protecting her. Arya can be all careless sometimes. She needs someone there for her. Promise me”

“I promise you Jon Snow”


	4. Chapter Four

You’d lost count on the days. The days may have turned into weeks, you didn’t know. But your stomach had begun to show more and more. The gown that had gotten dirty and laced with blood from scrapes had become uncomfortable to wear. You’d found yourself clothing that could help conceal you and your bump better than before. Your hair been pulled back into a braid. And everywhere you went you held onto Arya’s hand so you didn’t loose her.

At night, you’d take rest somewhere on the streets. Arya would find some rodent to kill during the day that you could cook for yourselves by the bay. You having becoming the master at sneaking lemon cakes from the table into your room when you had been nine, would steal a small loaf of bread or whatever fruit you could.

The baby had started to move, they began to move weeks and weeks ago. And whenever you got nervous about something, say the king’s guard walking to close to you and Arya for your comfort. Whenever you’d pull Arya in front of you and hold onto her shoulder tightly and discreetly move her away from them with a hand on your stomach. But lately instead of playful kicks, you got weaker ones. And starting today you had pains shooting through your back. Almost as if someone was ‘gently’ hitting you with a hammer on your spine.

“You’re pregnant” Arya had said, more as a statement. Your stomach was showing, making your walk slower than it would have been weeks ago. You supposed it also didn’t help your case whenever you walked around with one hand holding Arya’s and the other placed firmly on your stomach.

You couldn’t muster a response as you sat with your back against the small building that was a blacksmith’s workshop. You could only give her a side glance before looking back down at your protruding stomach.

You could see her nod in the corner of your eye. She was analyzing you. You hated the feeling of someones eyes on you. On your stomach. That was your baby. They didn’t deserved to be judged by anyone who was passing by her and eyeing it. They’d done nothing wrong, they weren’t to blame for whatever these civilians thought of the Queen Regent’s daughter, who had fit so well into the look of a common peasant.

“Who’s is it?”

You closed your eyes for a moment. You’d been spoiled by your mother. Kept away from what the world really was your whole life

Your mother hadn’t spoken to you once about your baby since the maester had told you about it. Maybe she had been talking about it with the maester or someone else she could trust. Not that you’d ever know. She’d always been a very secretive woman. She’d always been scheming since you could remember. How her one eyebrow would perk up whenever she was taking in information she could use to her advantage.

You had begun to become distrustful in your mother. Your brother, now king, hadn’t been in the least bit concerned about you, hadn’t issued anything about you being missing, about how you had disappeared from the throne room.

You would announce to the world that you were pregnant with Jon Snow’s bastard if you could. But so many against the Starks would slit your throat before you even went into labour. The father of your bastard had to be kept secret from your entire family. Arya was a Stark. She was flesh and blood to your child.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

There had come a time, in the day were Arya had left to get food. And you needed to stretch your legs. So you began to walk around the city. Both hands planted firmly on your stomach. Almost as if you were trying to hold the bump closer to you. As if it would work. You hefted yourself up a few steps through an alleyway before you saw children running in one direction behind a large crowd.

You were curious. So you followed them.

A large crowd was gathered around the court yard of the Great Sept of Baelor. The statue in the center of the courtyard was the only way you knew which direction to head to. Pushing your way through the crowd you came to a sight you never wanted to see.

Your brother, mother, Sansa, Lord Baelish and the grand maester all surrounding Ned Stark on the stage. You had to get closer. What was this for?

You were within the first row when Ned’s booming voice came over the crowd

“I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King. I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of Gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my King and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold I plotted to murder his son and seize the Throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, by the grace of all the Gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

You stood there trying to slow down your excessive breathing down to a slow in and out pace. You could feel your guts twisting into each other in worry. You could feel a kick hit your ribcage.

“As we sin, so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes in sight of Gods and men. The Gods are just but beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful. What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?”

Grand Maester Pycell.

If it wasn’t your mother who’d put his head on a spike, it’d be you.

You looked to your brother seeing him scan the crowd before he was about to speak. But then his eyes stopped moving when he looked to the area you were in.

“Dearest sister.” He greeted with a sadistic smile as his gaze went from your dirtied up face to your filthy shirt which had also become tight in the past weeks, exposing it more than it would have been when you’d stolen the shirt.

“Come up here my sweet sister.”

Your gaze went from Joffery to your mother. She looked shocked. And you couldn’t help but wonder, was it because the last time she saw you, you only looked like you had shoved an entire feasts worth into your body which made you look bloated. Or wether it was because she believed she had raised the perfect little lady, who was now covered in dirt with a scrape on her shoulder for walking to briskly around a corner, and far to close to the stone wall.

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you. Your arms wrapped around your stomach grabbing onto the shirt to keep your arms in place, knowing were they were looking. You looked at Joffery before making your way to the steps of the stage, climbing them carefully. Slowly crossing the stage, walking past Ned and to your brother who grabbed ahold of your wrist. Pulling you next to him so quickly your arm lost its grip on your shirt

“My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join The Night’s Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile. And My Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father”

Your head turned to Joffery who was still staring out at the crowd a lack of emotion on his face, the blanket expression that had been there for so many years.

“What do you wish for Princess Y/N?”

He turned to face you, his grip on your wrist slowly tightening to the point were you could feel wrist pop.

“Let him go to the wall. Take the black.” You responded.

He let go of your wrist and you took your leave next to Sansa. “Thank you my Princess.” She mumbled appreciatively.

“To protect the blood of my blood” You responded looking at her seeing her confused look she gave you.

“they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!”

Your head snapped over to see the Knight picking up a sword

“No!” You shouted trying to bolt over. You didn’t know what you’d do but you had to do something.

Your feet hadn’t even carried you three feet before your mother’s hands grabbed you and pulled you to her. You kept struggling to get out of grasp. You wanted to hurt Joffery. You didn’t know what you wanted to do. You just knew you wanted him in pain

“My son, this is madness!” Cersei yelled trying to hold you back from hurting your brother.

You didn’t want to see it.

The sword coming down to cut through Ned Stark’s neck. The crowd cheering. You’d given up. He was gone. You became almost limp in Cersei’s arms.

* * *

You were locked up. In the castle. More specifically in your chambers. Joffery had locked you up in here once you had come back from witnessing the slaughter of Lord Stark. He’d yelled, shoved you and used the excuse that he was the king. How he could do what he wanted to do. You’d been bathed since then. Given some of the clothes your mother had worn late in her pregnancies.

Joffery could cut you down. Her could cut down an ancient house if he wanted to. Threaten a maester if he wanted to, or even threaten to kill a woman from a brothel. He could do all of that, and you’d let him. But you’d be damned if he threatened your child and carried it out.

_“Do you know the shame you’ve brought to the family? Carrying a bastard in the red keep! When that thing comes out I’ll add his head for Sansa to look at”_

He’d cornered you, in your own room speaking horrid words of you and your child. Called you a traitor for helping Arya out of the castle. Calling you all of the names he thought appropriate. Shoved you against the post of your bed getting in your face while your mother stood by the door.

This was yours. Something that you had and no one else did. It was like an instinct in you was kicking in. Telling you to not allow anyone near you. The food brought to your chambers by Miza had to be placed on your bed side table for you to even touch it. And she had to leave before you’d eat.

“Little Lion.”

You could hear her, you just didn’t want to. She was there and closing the door behind her. The sound of her feet making their way to you echoed through the room, while you sat in your windowsill, staring out at the city.

“Yes?”

“You should be grateful. Our king had agreed to let you stay in the city, agreed to let you keep your name and your titles. Allowed you to keep your child.”

You scoffed. Grateful? Grateful a sixteen year old boy had allowed you to be a mother to your child? You would’ve found a way to do that yourself.

“Thank you Joffery.” You sneered

“Watch yourself Y/N.”

Rolling your eyes you turned to face her. She looked just as perfect as she always did. The queen regent always looked like the perfect doll you’d have when you were younger. The fancy dresses so many girls had dreamed of wearing when they were small.

“He’s not my king, he never will be.”


	5. Chapter Five

It was like the story that your Septa used to tell you. How there was once a woman locked up in a tower. How a man came to rescue her from the tower. How he’d taken down an entire kingdom for her. When he didn’t even know her, just stories of her beauty.

You felt like that woman, but you knew a man wouldn’t come to save you. You’d made up your mind about men saving the day.

It was bullshit.

Men wore suits of armor that slowed them down, they were reckless, and all wanted to sit on the iron throne to make their own life better. As if being a king made anything better for you or your family.

Look what it did to Aerys Targaryen and his family.

It turned him mad and every Targeryen was slaughtered except for the two youngest children of his that got away as children. Now one of them was dead, and the other was stuck across the Narrow Sea with the Dothraki.

Joffery often tried to get Arya’s whereabouts out of you. You’d only ever stayed quiet. As long as she was far away from Joffery she was safe. And you knew she would be. With Ned’s blood in her she would find a way to survive this.

Everyday when you woke up, you had shooting pains in your back, ever since you got back to the castle. But this morning was different.

The sun wasn’t up yet, but the air had the smell of a fresh morning. The pain was what woke you up. Usually it was the sun coming in the window and disturbing your sleep.

You were determined to get up and change yourself without help from your handmaiden. SO you could write a letter. To your grandfather you needed to get out of King’s Landing. To go to Casterly Rock if you could.

But the moment you’d thrown the blankets off of your body and stood up you felt something liquid run down your legs.

You had gone stiff closed your eyes to take in a calming breath and lowered your head to see your legs and shift covered in blood. It looked as if you had been laying and trashing your legs in a bath full of blood. Turning to look at the bed you saw your sheets soaked in blood.

The pain kept shooting up your back but worse this time. You’d put a firm hand on your stomach and rushed to the door trying to open it. You wanted your mother. You wanted her to tell you it was going to be okay. That you’d be okay that this was normal. But the door was locked.

“Let me out!” The scream echoed through your room. You banged on the door with your balled up fists

“Please!”

It wasn’t going to work. You figured that out quickly when no one came to the door but you could hear people outside. Their words and voices jumbled up. Turning back around you looked at the bed. Stained and unmade. You closed your eyes in quick thought. A knife. You opened your eyes and ran over to your desk pulling a dagger out that your uncle Tyrion had given you out and threw it onto the bedside table before grabbing the blanket that rested on your bed for pure decoration before sitting back down on the bed. Feeling the blood still running down your legs as you moved around the room.

You didn’t know if blood was normal. Or if this much was normal. But it didn’t seem to matter as you leaned your back against the headboard taking in a deep breath before one long sharp pain shot through your lower back, forcing a scream from your throat.

An Instinct told you to push so you started to push as best as you could. A hand coming up to your face to cover your mouth. Your hands were shaking as you tried to suppress the pain.

Taking your hand away from your mouth you reached both hands between your legs, feeling something protruding from your body. It was round and you could feel what felt like wet, thin hair with your fingers. It had to be the head.

Your hands were now covered in blood, but that you could care less about as whenever you pushed you could feel your baby move inch by inch out. Your hands trying to hold whatever much of their head that you could.

The commotion behind the door wasn’t what mattered anymore. What mattered was if you were going to make it to see your baby grow into a strong young man or woman. You felt weak everytime you let out a scream to accompany your pushing and the pulsing pain that seemed more constant now.

Feeling most of the head in your hand you pushed even harder than before letting a blood curdling scream out as more of the baby pushed out of your body.

The had their head in your hand and the other caught their lower back as they slid out and onto the already stained sheets.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. Taking in deep breaths as you tried to recover from the light headedness, the dizzieness, to actually look at your baby.

Finally opening your eyes you looked down between your legs to see a thick cord wrapped tightly around their neck, their face turning purple

The panic and the feeling of failure washed over you so quickly. Pulling the baby up to you you loosened the cord and unwrapped it from their neck holding them to you. Patting on the baby’s back roughly to get them to start crying. You couldn’t loose them. You couldn’t do it.

“Please, please, please cry. Please baby.” You pleaded

Then the shrill squalling cut through the air. It sent you into tears. Finally hearing it made you feel relieved. You held them tighter to you. Rubbing the part of their back you had been patting so harshly just a moment ago. Reaching over to the side table you grabbed the dagger and set next to your leg. Pulling you baby away from you cradled them to get to the cord that had been wrapped around their neck. Grabbing the cord you lifted it up and grabbed the knife cutting through it.

Looking down you finally took a second to see what she looked like. Red faced and still crying, eyes shut so tightly it just looked like two lines where her eyes where. Her head covered in pitch black tufts of hair. And she had her tiny little hands balled up into fists and she thrashing them around, and kicking her little feet.

She looked like him.

* * *

Walking out of the dinning hall you took in a deep breath. If there was one thing you hated more than an area foreign to you that you didn’t know your way around, it was a crowded room. One with too much noise and the smell of wine that made it hard to smell anything else

You’d walked onto the dirt ground outside and before you could even register it, you could hear the sound of a sword hitting wood.

Looking up you saw a man, not much older than yourself, hitting a sack that was wrapped around a wooden post with his sword.

“Careful, pretty sure he yields.” You’d blurted out with a soft smile on your face

You’d never seen anyone turn on their heels to look at you so quickly. He looked surprised with you. Holding his sword down to the ground he practically dropped it to bow to you.

He had coal black hair, and beautiful dark brown eyes, that in this lighting also looked black. His skin was pale, and was freshly shaven. You could tell by the little red bit of skin on his jaw and how he seemed to be wanting to scratch at it

“My Princes-“

“No! Don’t!” You insisted grabbing his upper arms and pulled him up. “You don’t have to.” You explained.

He’d only nodded slightly before standing there awkwardly.

“Are you alright?”

He nodded and looked down at the dry dirt around his feet. “I’m fine, Princess. But I don’t believe you should be talking to me.”

That had taken you back a bit. In shock as to why he would say you shouldn’t be talking to him.

“Why’s that?” You asked reaching out for the sword he was holding. He’d looked at you uncertain before giving it to you. You’d noticed it was a paring sword and smiled slightly at the fact he was practicing with a no doubt, expensive sparing sword.

“Lady Catelyn thinks it’s rude to have a bastard in the company of the royal family.”

You looked up at him and shrugged. “Okay?”

“You’re part of the royal family. And I think if she doesn’t ring my neck for talking to you it’ll be for letting you hold that.”

You shrugged once more noticing another sparing sword and nodded to it. He’d risen a brow in curiosity before grabbing it and walking back over.

You held yours up in a defensive position making him realize what you where going to do. Holding your dress up slightly in one hand you held the sword in the other.

He held his up as well ready for what you could do. Being confident that he could beat the princess of the seven kingdoms.

So he swung to try and hit gently on your shoulder but you had ducked and circled to behind him.

He didn’t have time to react before the other sparing sword was brought to his neck.

“You can thank my uncle Jamie for teaching me that.”

* * *

You could hear the door. The sound of the squeaking hinges and the sound of your mother running in.

“Y/N!”

You looked up from your daughter’s sleeping form to see your mother stopped in the middle of the floor looking at you and the small bundle in your arms who had finally calmed down after you fed her.

Her mouth was agape as she inched her way closer to you to get a better look at her grandchild.

“It’s a girl.” You mumbled happily watching as she clenched and unclenched her fist as she slept.

“It’s her name day…Have you picked something out for her?”

You nodded with a smile bring your hand to her and with your thumb and index finger holding it.

“Lucia, Her name is Lucia.”


	6. Chapter Six

You watched as the man, clad in armor was pushed over the parapet by Sandor Clegane, also clad in armor.

Lucia, was having none of the noise. Often giving you her lazy angry look. She was still small and not much larger than when she was born, but she had opened her eyes a day after she was born. Revealing eyes that matched Jon’s.

“Well Struck!”

You looked over to your brother, turned king standing near the edge and looking down at the now dead man. Huffing you looked down at Lucia again as she started to fuss. She couldn’t be hungry, you’d fed her before you came out, she’d been changed by Miza who had become infatuated with the little girl. Often times just wanting to hold her. Myrcella already seemed to love Lucia and Tommen was fascinated.

Joffrey couldn’t care less, since she was born a girl.

“Did you like that?”

You turned your head to see Joffrey putting Sansa in a difficult situation yet again. He should just leave the poor girl alone already. It was obvious she didn’t want to speak to him.

“It was well struck”

“I already said it was well struck”

You saw the hesitation on Sansa’s face before she looked back up at your brother

“Yes, your grace”

You stared daggers into the back of Joffrey’s head as best you could as Lucia’s fussing started to get worse.

“Shut her up will you?”

Joffrey turned to you before he said it glaring at you as well with those cold, soulless, blue eyes.

You huffed before turning your attention to Tommen who seemed to be uncomfortable with what was going on.

“Tommen, would you by chance have her rattle?” You asked watching as his attention went to you before he looked around and seemed to have found what you asked before. He looked down at the table next to him picking up the rattle and passing it to you.

“Thank you”

You held the rattle over Lucia’s face and gave it a small shake to get her attention. Seemingly her full attention went to the rattle as she started to lift up her right arm slightly to try and get the rattle.

You lowered the rattle and put it into her hand watching as she just held it to her chest and seemingly calmed down. Okay…She was just bored.

“Who’s Next?”

“Lothor Brune, free rider in the service of Lord Baelish”

He really was dragging out his name day celebration wasn’t he?

You set yourself into your own swaying motion as you watched a man come forward from where the announcer had gestured.

“Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard”

You looked to the direction that the announcer gestured. No one came forward. Watching as he gestured to the other direction

“Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard”

Still no one came forward, until you heard;

“Here I am!” You turned to see him on Sansa’s left, coming down a step and walking over quickly. He was holding his helmet and his weapon tightly yet awkwardly. “Here I am.” He said once more dropping the helmet he was holding. You watched as he scrabbled to get it.

Was he drunk?

Seemed like Joffrey had been thinking the same thing as you. Seemingly he’d asked it while you thought it. Ser Dontos took his helmet off and shook his head

“No, your grace. I me-mean, I had two cups of wine.”

He had to be joking. You gave him a skeptical look feeling Lucia’s left arm reach up and grab to the front of your dress.

“Two cups? That’s not much at all, please have another.” You watched as Joffrey gestured to his table that had a canister of wine on it. He was going to take this and put some sick twist on it like he always did.

“Are you sure, your grace?”

“Yes, to celebrate my name day. Have two, have as much as you’d like!”

You watched Joffrey look to Ser Meryn, watching as he spoke “Ser Meryn, help ser Dontos celebrate my name day, make sure he has his fill.”

You watched as Ser Meryn and two other king’s guards grabbed Ser Dontos. They took him a few feet away and forced onto his knees. Looking back down at Lucia you saw she was fast asleep even during all this chaos happening.

Looking back up you saw one of the guards forcing him onto his knees and putting a funnel into his mouth.

“May the seven gods have mercy.” You whispered to yourself as another one of the guards started to pour a barrel of wine into the funnel.

“You can’t!”

You looked at Sansa to see her staring on in horror.

“What did you say? Did you just say I can’t?”

How was Sansa going to get out of this hole she dug herself with her own words this time?

“I only mean…It would be bad luck to kill a man on your name day”

You smiled at Sansa, hefting your arms up a bit to get Lucia into a more comfortable position for you to hold her.

“What kind of Peasant’s superstitions-“

“She’s right, your grace. What a man sows on his name day, he reaps all year.” Sandor stated leaning over to Joffrey

Apparently she was going to get out of that hole easily.

Your brother released a noticeable sigh before waving his hand

“Fine, take him away. I’ll have him killed tomorrow. The fool.”

Sansa had suggested taking Ser Dantos and making him Joffrey’s new fool. To which Joffrey seemed pretty pleased with. And then Ser Dantos had been taken away. To where? Who knows

“Beloved Nephew!”

You knew that voice. Smiling you looked to your right, your uncle Tyrion marching himself over, in the Lannister armor, with another man trailing behind him and what looked to be tribesmen.

“We looked for you on the battle field, you where nowhere to be found.”

Battlefield?

How long had you been locked in your room for a battle to happen? You assumed the look on your face was obvious seeing as Myrcella just gave you an apologetic smile.

Your eyes then followed your uncle as he walked to pour himself a glass of wine.

“I’ve been here, ruling the seven kingdoms.”

Watching your uncle as he came over to you and Myrcella, a smile gracing his face as he took the two of you in. After months of not seeing each other. Not since you parted ways at Winterfell

“And what a fine job you’ve done.” He said looking to your brother than you and your sister once more.

“You two, more beautiful than ever.”

You watched as he then walked the short distance to your younger brother with a playful smile now on his face “And you! You’re going to be bigger than the hound! But much better looking!” You smiled as Tyrion then looked up to the hound pointed and added “This one doesn’t like me so much”

The man that had come out shortly after your uncle just smiled wryly before saying “Can’t imagine why”

You heard Lucia then start to fuss again as her hold on your dress tightened and she let out a small cry

Looking down you saw her rattle trapped between her chest and other arm which seemed to be causing discomfort. Taking the rattle from her chest she began to calm down again.

“And who’s this?”

Looking back up you saw your uncle come over to you and look at the dark haired little girl who’s pale skin didn’t really match up with your own tan skin that was used to the southern weather.

You gave Tyrion a smile before holding her more at an angle so he could see her.

“Lucia, your grandniece.” You introduced. You could see his facial expression change slightly as you said ‘grandniece’

“Yours?”

You nodded with a proud smile on your face.

“We heard you were dead.” Joffrey interrupted.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” Myrcella interrupted

“Me, too, my dear. Death is so boring, especially with all this excitement going on now.”

You saw Tyrion then look at Sansa

“My Lady, I’m sorry for your loss.”

* * *

Lucia had gone down for a nap.

By a nap, you mean she fell asleep on your chest while you had laid down with her. Her arms sprawled out on your chest and her feet barley reaching your belly button. And you could feel her breathing even out, so you had stayed like taking in the new baby smell that you vaguely remember Tommen having when he was born. But this was a smell you felt like you’d always associate with Lucia wether she was a month old or 20 years old.

You heard the door open, because of those damn hinges that always squeaked more than any other door in the red keep.

Looking up you saw your mother closing it again and turning to look at you. “We need to know where the other Stark girl is.”

Rest your right arm firmly against Lucia’s back and head you sat up to keep her in place on your chest.

“I told you I don’t know where she is, mother.” You responded grabbing pillows and putting them side by side on the center of the bed and putting Lucia down in between them so she wouldn’t roll off the bed.

“Y/N we need to get your uncle back from the Starks. The only way to do that is if we exchange the girls for him.”

You remembered the rumors you’d heard right after Ned had been killed. How Joffrey wasn’t heir to the throne because he wasn’t Robert’s child. That Joffrey had been born out of incest. That all four of you, Joffrey, You, Myrcella, and Tommen were really the bastards of Cersei and Jamie.

“I barley know uncle Jamie. Why do you want to get him back so badly?” You asked turning to your mother with a scowl that was so similar to her’s.

“He’s family.”

“So is uncle Tyrion. But you didn’t try as hard to get Tyrion back like you are for Jamie!” You snapped grabbing onto your bedpost and walking closer to her.

“I’ve heard rumors around the castle. About you and uncle Jamie. Disgusting rumors. Rumors I’m starting believe.”

* * *

“This is the last time i’m going to really be able to talk to you Jon!” You said mere inches from his face, holding his hand with your pendant between your hands.

“It’s not much, I get that.” You stated your free hand coming up to his face, your three last fingers going behind his ear and your index finger resting at the base of his ear and your thumb stroking his cheek.

“I love you, there’s nothing that can change that. If a man with a known house to his name and with gold to accompany him came along, I’d choose you. And I know you can’t give me anything to remember you, but as long as I can give you something I will.”

“Y/N”

“Jon.”

“I’d remember you without this too. I’d remember your face and how a Baratheon woman’s personality was better than her family’s, and she decided to accept a bastard.”

“You’re more than a bastard.”


	7. Chapter Seven

Twenty children. Who had done nothing, slaughtered.

You had heard the news spread quick. Robert Baratheon’s bastards slaughtered in the middle of the streets. Babies ripped from their mother’s breasts and throats slit. You could feel the sense of a new formed hatred for him for that piece of vermin you’d called your brother for 16 years.

Was this how your mother felt? When she felt as if her children were being threatened? Was that this feeling deep in your stomach for the deep wanting of protection for that small human being laying in her cradle?

You’d never felt this consuming feeling of wanting to protect someone like you currently did. She’d become your life. The smile that spread across her face whenever you greeted her in the morning, standing above her cradle looking down at her.

That had to be this feeling. The swelling feeling of pride when you held her head in your hands. The feeling of pure love whenever she Feld onto your fingers as you held her while you stood looking out of the window, out to the city you hoped she’d be able to run around in one day.

This power was going to his head. The fear he was putting into everyone as if they were children who needed to be taught a lesson.

Children had been killed for no reason, and for that you loathed him.

A knock at the door had caught your attention. A knock? No on had knocked on your door since…

Another knock followed the one before.

“Come in!” You responded turning away from the window to the door the hinges squeaking as it opened to reveal your uncle Tyrion.

“Uncle.” You greeted

“Y/N, It’s great to see you’re alright. Last I heard about you was from Jamie, he had said you didn’t feel well.”

You laughed slightly and nodded looking at the wooden cradle

“I guess we know why now.”

He nodded seeing the look of pure love your face. He’d never seen you look so at peace and a certain emotion he’d never seen.

“I still can’t believe you’re now a mother. Last I saw you, you still chased Tommen whenever he touched something of yours.”

You watched as he walked over to the cradle you’d been staring at to look at the infant.

“Why are you here uncle? I thought you needed to be, Hand of The King, for grandfather?”

You saw him nod and look up at you with a fond smile.

“Because, when I came back to King’s Landing, I didn’t think in a million years that my niece would be holding a fussy baby at the king’s name day celebration, let alone her own baby.”

You nodded in agreement. “A year ago I didn’t think I’d be a mother right now either.”

“May I?”

Tyrion pointed down to Lucia asking if he could hold her.

You gestured for him to do so. He’d gently reached into her cradle and pulled the baby girl out and safely into his arms. “She’s a beauty. I imagine you’ll be trying to chase little lords away from her in a few years.”

Tyrion walked over to the balcony with you following shortly behind him. You sat down in one of the chairs and watched him do the same.

“She’s the first dark haired baby to be born into our family. Lucia Storm, I suppose the blonde wouldn’t fit.”

You hated hearing people saying her last name. It sometimes made you feel like they were trying to devalue Lucia as your child just because she was born out of wedlock. Yet that statement brought a smile to your face, because he was right. Blonde hair wouldn’t suit her.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Ned Stark’s bastard, Jon Snow fathered this child. The resemblance is uncanny.”

Your blood ran cold as you stared at him. How he looked up at you from Lucia to give some sort of knowing grin.

“W-what?” You stammered

“You know what…I don’t think I do know any better. Because the resemblance is striking.” He said

You were about to open your mouth and try to tell him he was wrong, that Jon hadn’t fathered Lucia. But he’d stopped you.

“Dont. Don’t try to argue with me. I know you. And I’ve only known one man, who you seemed quite fond of who had dark hair, eyes and pale skin.”

“There was Robb.” You pointed out. “Theon Greyjoy.”

“Both have blue eyes. You never once spoke to Theon, and while you got along with Robb, you didn’t sneak into each other’s chambers at night.”

He knew how to point out your bullshit. That was for certain. Nodding your head you watched as he stood back up, walking over to you and handing over the little girl who’s brown eyes were now open and wondering.

“I won’t tell anyone Y/N. You can trust me on that.”

He began to walk away, but before he was even near the entrance back to the room you spoke up.

“How’d you figure it out?”

Your voice was shaky, you didn’t look back at him you just looked out to the expansive ocean.

“I didn’t have to figure it out. I knew it.”

“How did you know?” You corrected

“I could tell from the first night in Winterfell. I’d passed you on my way into the dinning hall, and you had been headed out. I’d gone to follow you out, because it looked like you were going to pass out. But when I did you were talking to Snow. And you two had begun sparing. And when you had your sword an inch from his throat from behind him, he looked like he was falling in love. And then you two sneak into each other’s chambers and snuck out when you could. The moment I saw her, I knew. That hair. It’s just very…Jon.”


	8. Chapter Eight

“You’re sending my sister off to Dorne!” You’d screamed barging into your uncle’s quarters.

“I thought I could trust you! But then you turn and try to give the Mortell’s youngest son my sister for their military!”

You could see the shock wash over his face as you stomped over to his desk and slammed your fists onto the table making everything shake and knocking over his cup of wine.

“Hey! I just got that wine!” He said pointing to the cup which was now on it’s side.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about your wines. That is my sister! She is sweet! She is innocent! She can’t be married off to someone we don’t know!”

Tyrion had sighed and picked up the cup standing it up again on the table as he rounded it grabbing your wrist and taking one of your balled up fists from his desk

“A war is coming. If it comes here, she needs to be kept safe like you said, she’s innocent, and sweet. We need their army to defeat the Starks.”

You pulled your fist out of his grasp. You went to the door slamming it closed and walked back over. “What is she to you? Clearly not your niece because you’re trading her like cattle for an army.” You spat grabbing the canister of wine and walked to his balcony, throwing it over the parapet.

“Now you can’t get drunk and make stupid decisions.”

“Perfectly good wine! And what of the canister!?”

The door opened to reveal Bronn.

“Ah! Ser Bronn! I’m sure you’ve met my niece.”

“No, haven’t had the chance.”

Turning to Bronn angrily you began to speak again.

“Both of you, can rot in the seven hells.”

You had stormed past Bronn to leave the room, your hand grabbing the door as you were about to leave.

“You know.”

You froze and listened to what he had to say.

“You’re a lot more like your mother than you’d like to admit. But you are much kinder.”

Turning to him, you took a step into the room and closed the door.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Consider Myrcella, the lion cub. Not her fault really. She can’t defend herself. She’s always been like that, letting people do things because she’s scared of them. Sending her off to Dorne is best for her. Best for her stay alive.”

Your scoff turned into a laugh of disbelief. “What does that have to do with me being like my mother?”

Tyrion smiled up at you

“Because, just a few months ago, I would have shipped you off to marry one of the Martell boys as well. But then, But then you had a baby.”

“Where is this going?”

“M’Lady, please take a seat” Bronn tried putting a hand on your shoulder and walk you over to a seat in front of the desk.

“Screw off!” You shouted shoving him off of you

Tyrion gave Bronn a look telling him to stand down from his niece.

“Your mother always called you her ‘little lion.’ Did she ever tell you why?”

You shook your head and Tyrion just smiled gleefully.

“Good, I wanted to be the one to tell you that story. You were maybe, three or four, And a man’s head had been brought to your father. A man of the King’s guard had dumped it onto the tile, and dropped his sword by the doorway, Not even two minuted later you came over in your little golden dress, holding the bloody sword by the handle. Your golden hair had been done by your mother that morning, and now you had a streak of a dead man’s blood in it. To Cersei, you looked like our house sigil. A golden lion, rampant on a blood stained throne.”

You’d stared at the grown when he told this story, Cute really, but you’d never had a fear of seeing blood, or touching it apparently.

“You’ve always wanted to be different from your mother. And you are. But, lets say you never had Lucia! You wouldn’t have come barging into the room screaming at you. Because the women in our family… The moment they have their first child, Kin becomes their life, Like a real life mother lion. You had your daughter, Jon’s daughter and you became braver, stronger. For her. Just like your mother when she had you.”

“Don’t worry about me, I already knew about Jon Snow.” Bronn stated defensively.

“Tyrion told you?”

* * *

“I don’t believe you’ve told me much about yourself Jon Snow.” You said as you walked past trees with him leading you to wherever he was taking you.

“You know everything about me, My Princess.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“First of all, don’t call me ‘princess.’ And second of all, I know that’s not true! I’ve only known you two days! You can’t know everything about someone in two days!” You responded setting into a light jog to keep up with Jon.

“Really? Cause I know everything about you.”

“What?”

You had stopped in your tracks and Jon had just kept walking with a smug look on his face.

“Jon!” You shouted running after him. “What do you mean you know everything about me?”

He’d now stopped, holding the torchlight next to your faces as he looked down at you.

“I know your favorite color is the green of the Early sigil, I know your uncle Jamie has taught you the basics of sword fighting, and that you’re good. I know you’re cooped up in that palace all day everyday in King’s Landing, and that this is a breath of fresh air for you, to finally see new faces and be in a new climate.”

You didn’t even have time to register his words before you were smiling and getting slightly closer him. “Anything else?”

“You hate your hair color, You believe Shepard’s pie is the worst, And when drama plays out between people, you often sit and watch until it gets past a certain point. I know what you like, what you don’t like, and why.”

Smirking you grabbed the hem of Jon’s coat, pulling him closer to you and attaching your lips to his.

The instant shock washed over him for a moment before he began to kiss you back. His free hand resting on your hip.

Pulling away from the kiss you’d laughed when you saw his awestruck face.

“You didn’t know I liked that.” You teased running ahead of him.

“Wait! You just kissed me?!”

“Keep up!”


	9. Chapter Nine

“What is the meaning of this!” Tyrion yelled. You and Bronn weren’t far behind him and already you could see what was happening from behind Bronn’s shoulder.

“What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?”

Pushing past Bronn you sped your way over to Sansa, her dress torn in the back revealing the tan colored corset and her bare skin above that.

Coming in front of Sansa you knelt down to be eye level with her, wiping a tear away from her face. “Don’t let him see he has an effect on you.” You murmured

“Some get her something to cover herself with!” Tyrion had yelled.

“You’re going to be alright. I’ll get you to my quarters, we can get you changed into my dresses. I have one I think will nice on you.” You smiled to try and get anything out of her other than what she had been spewing whenever someone asked her about Joffrey ‘I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.’ You knew it was a lie. From the moment he ordered for her father to be killed she hated him. You knew she did.

“She is to be your queen! Have you no regard for her honor?”

Looking up when you heard heavy footsteps you saw the hound coming over with his cape to put over Sansa’s shoulders.

Wrapping an arm around Sansa you watched the conversation play out between the nephew and uncle.

“She must answer for her crimes!”

“What crimes? She did not fight her brother’s battle you half-wit”

“You can’t talk to me like that! A king can do as he likes!”

“The mad king did as he liked. Did your uncle jame ever tell you what happened to him?”

Watching Ser Meryn step forward and put a hand on his sword you glared at Joffrey and he made clear eye contact with you before rolling his eyes.

“No one threatens His Grace in the presence of a King’s Gaurd.”

“I’m not threatening the king Ser. I’m educating my nephew. Bronn, the next time Her Meryn speaks, kill him.”

Looking over to Ser Meryn you saw the worried and shocked glance he gave Bronn

“That was a threat, see the difference?”

Getting a tight grasp on Sansa’s shoulder you helped her up and began to walk her to your chambers.

* * *

“I think the blue one will look nice on you.” You said holding the dress up for her to see.

She only gave a somber nod.

“Tell me how you feel about this engagement. Truthfully.”

You put the dress over your chair and stood in front of Sansa before kneeling down to see her face as her head had drifted to face the floor.

When she saw your sincere expression she had nearly started crying again. You and your three younger siblings were the only ones who seemed to not be wanting to kill everyone and put their heads on spikes.

“I just wanted to be like my parents. To be a proper lady who was loved by her husband and adored by all the kingdoms.” She confessed. “But I don’t feel loved. I just wish I was still in Winterfell. With my family. I miss Arya, and Septa Mordane. I miss Jon, I used to be so cruel to him! I just want to be somewhere where I have family. I have none here.”

You nodded slightly and looked at her before sighing. “I know love.” And without thinking you’d added “But you do have family here, maybe not what you were expecting. But you do have them.” You said standing up straight and going to the cradle and scooping up the sleeping little girl who was bundled up in a yellow blanket. Walking back over to Sansa with the infant in your arms.

“Take her.” You insisted handing over the baby. Sansa was startled as the girl was placed in her arms but she took her anyways. Holding her.

“She’s family.” You pointed out.

Sansa looked at you strangely when you said that. “What do you mean?”

“She has the name of Lucia Storm. Storm is a last name for bastard born in the storm lands. Where we are right now. If her last name is storm, it means her father and I were never married. Who do you think her father is? Take a good long look at her.”

Sansa had looked skeptical but looked at Lucia to see her eyes open now, and staring up at the redhead curiously. She studied the features to try and place who her father had been and then it clicked in her head.

“She’s Jon’s. She’s my… She’s my niece.” Sansa said pulling the child closer to her. She may have hated Jon at a time, but now that she felt like she would never see any of the rest of her family and that Lucia was her niece, even if Jon wasn’t her mother’s son, she still shared blood with Jon, and now she shared blood with the princess’ daughter.


	10. Chapter Ten

“Come Myrcella.”

The tears in your sister’s eyes were already making their way to her cheeks. Her hair done as it usually was and her cheeks turning red as well as her eyes.

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to go to Dorne, I want to be here with you, mother, Tommen and the baby! I want to be there for Joffrey and Sansa’s wedding!”

You sighed slightly and walked over to her. Kneeling down in front of her as she sat on the stool in her room.

“I know you don’t. I don’t want you to either. I’m mad. I’m mad at uncle Tyrion. I’m angry that he’s sending you away and that I might never see you again.” You breathed out grabbing her hands. This was the second person within the year who was leaving you. She was doing it because of marriage. She didn’t have a choice. Jon, he had a choice.

“But you know what? I will tell Luci so many stories. Our story of how we climbed trees whenever we stopped on our way to winterfell in our dresses. How her aunt is so caring and never once missed the chance to hold her.”

You were going to cry when she got on the boat. She was your only sister. It had always been you and her as children. But when you’d turned 14 you had gone your own way. Acting proper like your mother taught you and always preparing for the day that you’d be married off to some future lord of something. But that looked less likely.

“I want to tell those stories.” Myrcella spoke.

“I know. And one day you will. To your own daughters. And may you have plenty of them. May the halls of Dorne be filled with little golden haired little girls in fancy dresses singing songs about our grandfather and waving around dragon puppets. Just like us.”

You’d earned a smile from her. An honest one.

“I’ll name one for you.” She replied

“Y/N Martell? You sure Trystane will like that?”

“I don’t care what he likes.”

Smiling, you stood up and offered your hand out for her to take. And she did.

You’d walked out of the room with her. A handmaiden carrying a crate full of things Myrcella wanted in Dorne with her.

“What if they’re not golden haired?”

“Then let them be dark haired beauties. With hair of the Dornish men, and the beauty of the Lannisters and Baratheons. And let them be strong like their grandmother. Full of fury and anger. And let them be brave, as our father once was, and as we are now.”

Her hand grabbed onto yours tightly and you had smiled to yourself because you remembered the times that she had grabbed onto your hand when playing or running down the halls when your mother or father had just told you not to. Or whenever she was nervous. Even just a year ago she used to grab your hand and squeeze painfully tight.

* * *

“You’ll be amazing. You know that? You will become Lady Martell of Dorne, with so many sons and daughter you can’t count them on your fingers. And may you be loved by Trystane. And if he hurts you. Write me a letter. I’ll take care of him” You joked

She had laughed too before she hugged you. The tears were still threatening to come onto her cheeks since you left the castle.

You hugged her as well and let her grab onto the back of your dress for support.

“What are our words?”

“Ours is the fury, and hear me roar.”

You pulled away and gave her a smile

“Ours is the fury, and hear me roar.” You repeated and let her go completely and backed away next to Sansa who was holding Lucia.

Myrcella had said her goodbyes. Tears still making their way down her cheeks. Your mother had held her tightly and Tommen had grabbed onto the back of her dress in a tight hold as to keep her from leaving. But she was able to pull away. And get on the boat that would take her to the ship. And in a few years she would become Myrcella Martell of Dorne.

“Stop crying, you sound like a kitten mewling for its mother.” Joffrey scolded. Confused you looked down to Tommen to see the septa trying to calm him down

“I’ve seen you cry” Sansa stated under her breath.

Holding your hand out for Tommen take, he looked up at you before taking it. Pulling him into your hip you held onto his head and shoulder as his arms wrapped around your waist as he cried.

“What was that My Lady?”

“My brother, Bran. He cried when I left Winterfell.” Sansa corrected quickly stepping back slightly

“So?”

“It seems a normal thing.”

“Is your brother a prince?”

“No?”

“Not really relevant then, is it?”

And with that Joffrey left. Ordering the hound to follow him as if he was a dog. Rubbing light circles into Tommen’s back to try and calm him down from his crying your mother walked over to calm him down herself.

* * *

Holding Lucia, you walked next to guards. Sansa behind you with her handmaidens. People lined up on the way to the castle. Lucia was moving her head, moving it up and down so she could try and get a look at what was going on. People just staring. And she was staring right back with those big brown eyes.

When you turned a corner you could hear

“Hail Joffrey!”

Moving Lucia to have her ear against your chest, so she could look at the crowd, you began to get a bad feeling. A motherly instinct that Myrcella often teased you about.

One of your hands on her bottom and the other firmly placed on her back as you picked up a faster pace trying to get to the palace as soon as you possibly could to rid this feeling.

“Hail to the king!”

You heard a man’s laughter and you could feel the feeling get worse. It felt like your chest was compressing tightly in on itself.

“Several blessings on you, Your Grace!”

Looking forward to hopefully grab the attention of your mother or even Joffrey. Joffrey hated you, yes. He hated everyone but your mother, but even that was debatable. But to prove he was a good king he’d keep you alive. Your mother, you hoped she’d try to grab you incase anything started to happen.

“He’s no king! He’s a bastard!”

Joffrey had looked the the crowd with an angered look but he kept going. Making the walk to the castle.

“Freak!”

You looked back to Sansa with a worried look and she gave you the same as your uncle had two guards get Tommen and get him back to the castle.

There were people yelling and calling your brother, or king, whatever he wanted to be called names, bastard, freak. Begging him for food because they’d been chased out of their fields due to Robb Stark’s war.

It hit Joffrey so hard you could hear it. The sound of his neck popping and the sound of mud hit his cheek. Guards circled Joffrey holding up their spears in a warning

“Who did that! I want whoever did that! I want their head! Kill them! Kill them all!”

You looked back to see Sansa trying to speed up but was stopped as a citizen attacked one of the city watch guards to the ground which caught on your dress. You went falling to the ground and landed on your side. The sting went from your hip down to your knee. And Lucia had begun to cry out

You felt a hand grab onto your forearm. Looking up you saw a guard as he began to pull you up and began dragging you along with your uncle and mother to the castle. Full anarchy had broken out. Citizens attacking guards and Joffrey yelling for all of their heads.

Lucia had begun to cry harder, more like sobbing now. And since it had been over a month since she had been able to actually shed tears, you could feel her tears roll down from her cheeks and soak into the satin dress you were wearing.

You were right behind your mother and quickly inside of the castle. You were about to start crying if Lucia hadn’t done it before you. You’d already been on edge since she was born.

Joffrey threatening you for having even gotten pregnant. You were worried that if your mother found out who fathered your child she’d hate you. And that if Joffrey found out he’d order for her to be killed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already ordered the death of children. You didn’t want your child dead just because of who conceived her.

Looking around you realized. Sansa was nowhere to be found. You haven’t even been paying attention to anything but the crying dark haired child in your arms. Looking towards the door you saw it open and the hound come through with Sansa over his shoulder.

“Little bird’s bleeding a little.” He said setting her down on the ground. Sansa’s handmaidens surrounding her.

“Sansa!” You exclaimed running towards her “Y/N” She breathed out in relief. “Is Lucia okay? I saw you fall”

“She’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine. Are you okay?” You asked as her handmaidens helped her up. Her done up hair now falling out it’s place and around her shoulders.

“I’m fine.”

* * *

“Do you think she’s okay?” Shae asked you

You’d shrugged slightly. Sansa was strong, she just didn’t know it, and knowing her. She might let it go to her head about how cruel men were.

“Who knows. She looked…shaken up last week. She’s still trying to get over it.” You said as you reached the door of Sansa’s room. But when She opened it, you were greeted with a very distressed look on her face, a butter knife in her hand and on top of the bed.

You rushed over to Sansa and grabbed her wrists looking at the knife. There was nothing on it, but her sheets were soaked in blood. “Oh gods.” You breathed

“Give me that” Shae spoke snatching the knife from Sansa’s hands

“If the queen sees that I can Joffrey’s children now…”

A look of dread washed over both yours and Shae’s face.

“Help me flip it over!” Shae exclaimed quickly grabbing at the bottom of the mattress. And you did the same. Grabbing the mattress on the same side as her. Sansa had gotten off and grabbed her side of the bed and the three of you tried to flip the mattress over.

Another handmaiden had walked in. All three of you in unison looked at her with a mellow panic in your eyes. But she’d looked at the blood stained sheets and mattress before turning on her heel to walk out.

Shae looked at both of you before walking after her at a faster pace as to catch up.

You could see Sansa tearing up so you’d rounded the bed to comfort her. “My mother will never know! Understand me? She’ll never know that you bled for the first time.” You tried but you could hear heavier footsteps. Ones that weren’t Shae’s. Turning your head you saw Sandor Clegane. Turning your entire body towards him, he made his way to you both and pushed you both out of the way before standing where Sansa had once been, just staring at the blood.

Sansa had begun quietly crying, and you stood in the corner when Shae came rushing back to the room.

* * *

“I thought it would be… less messy.” Sansa explained.

You were trailing loosely behind your mother and Sansa. This time you had taken Lucia from Miza, who’d been watching her while you visited Sansa.

“Wait till you bear the child.” Your mother said gesturing to your daughter.

Sansa had looked at you questingly and you only smiled weakly “I wouldn’t know about a regular birth. Far to much blood according to Grand Maester Pycell.”

“Let’s just be thankful he made sure you would both live.” Your mother said before letting Sansa go to her desk by the window

Sansa had sat down and your mother continued speaking

“You’re a woman now, do you know what that means?”

“I’m fit to bear children for the king?”

“A prospect that once delighted you.” Your mother observed

Going over to the seat next to Sansa you handed Lucia over her aunt. And Lucia happily in her aunts arms again after yesterday curled up into her embrace.

“Bringing little princes and princesses into the world, the greatest honor for a Queen.”

Your mother and Sansa shared a glance before your mother looked down at Lucia who was happily in Sansa’s arms before looking to you.

“Joffrey’s always been difficult. Even his birth, I labored a day and a half to bring him into this world. You cannot imagine the pain, and yet, Y/N labored so quickly. Yet the story of her and her daughter almost ended in tragedy. But, I was in so much pain, I swear Robert would hear me in the Kingswood.”

“His grace was not with you.”

You looked at your mother curiously. Was your father really not there for the birth of his child? Of course your father had always been distant. But you never thought he’d go that far.

“Robert was hunting, that was his custom.”

Your mother had turned from you both and walked to the love seat that sat on the end of her bed.

“Whenever my time was near, my royal husband would flee to the trees with his huntsman and his hounds.”

You mother grabbed her shawl and wrapped it around her back and over her arms.

“And when he was done-“

She turned back around to you both with an almost forced smile on her face.

“He would present me with some pelts or a stag’s head. And I would present him with a baby.”

Your mother and Sansa shared a glance before once again Cersei looked at you before moving across the room again to the other side of the desk

“Not that I wanted him there, mind you. I had grand maester Pycelle, an army of midwives and I had my brother.”

The suspicion ate away at you. Of course your mother had wanted your uncle Jamie there and not her husband. You were convinced that you and your siblings were born from the two Lannisters. However when you’d brought it up, your mother had slammed the door on her way out.

“When they told Jamie he wasn’t allowed in the birthing room, he smiled and asked which one of them proposed to keep him out.”

Your mother just looked out the window. Silence taking over the room except for the small sounds of Lucia’s breathing

“Joffrey will show you no such devotion. The father of my first grandchild showed no such devotion.”

You felt a small burst of anger deep inside of yourself. ‘ _He couldn’t be there_ ’ you thought _‘He’s at the wall.’_ You knew Jon loved you. If he’d known, he would have tried to be there.

“You may never love the king, but you will love his children”

Your mother turned back to the two of you.

“I love His Grace with all my heart.” Sansa tried to defend. As if she was being attacked or accused.

“That’s so very touching to hear.” Your mother responded clearly not buying what Sansa was selling for free.

“Permit me to share some womanly wisdom with you on this very special day, Y/N, feel free to insert yourself. The more people you love, the weaker you are. You’ll do things for them, that you know you shouldn’t do. You’ll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one, but your children. On that front a mother has no choice.”

“But shouldn’t I love Joffrey, Your grace?”

“You can try, Little Dove. You may go.”

You had both stood up to go. And had walked to the door. Lucia’s blanket in your arms before your mother stopped you.

“Not you Y/N… I would like to talk to you.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

Looking back at your mother confused as to why she wanted you to stay you handed Lucia’s blanket over “She’s picky, she needs this blanket when she’s fussy.” You advised “I want you to watch her. No one else.” Sansa nodded taking the blanket and draping it over Lucia’s chest before she turned to leave.

Turning to your mother you walked back to where she was “What is this about?”

“Your uncle said something very interesting the other day.”

“Mother, he’s always running his mouth.” Was your response

“I know. But he said something that got me thinking. I’d mentioned Luci. Just said that my granddaughter was fine, and he responded with ‘She’ll look like a real Northern lady one day.’ It reminded me of when we were all in Winterfell. How you were gone so often. So I got the book. The one Ned Stark used to try and prove that Joffrey wasn’t heir to the throne.”

You could feel your heart begin to race. How she was so close to figuring it out.

“All the northern women in this book, who’s parents were both from the north, are described, to have dark brown to black hair, often times curly. And piercing blue eyes, or deep brown.”

“What are you suggesting mother?”

She had opened the book and flipped to a certain page

“Rickard Stark, black of hair. Ned Stark, brown of hair. And then Rickard’s father! Black of hair!”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Your hands balling up into fists as you watched her. She was angry. The amount of rage in her eyes was evident, even while she looked down at the book.

“Is Lucia a Stark?”

“Of sorts.“ You responded looking down at the tattered edges of your dress, from the countless times you’d worn the dress before your pregnancy.

“Did you lay with Robb Stark?” Cersei asked looking up, she looked like she was worried about what the answer would be.

“What? No!” You responded

“Then who!”

“Jon Snow!”

* * *

“Your granduncle, Stannis, he’s planning an attack on King’s Landing. Renly’s gone. Your uncle Robb… He wants to kill Joffrey, not that I don’t either.”

You were interrupted by Lucia’s little noises she made in response to your yammering on about the upcoming battle.

“I suppose you wouldn’t understand. You’re just a babe. That’s what aunt Marcella to call you. ‘The little babe.’”

You were interrupted by Tyrion barging into your chambers. The hinges squeaking in protest.

“You told her!”

You’d stood up quickly, holding Lucia to your chest. You didn’t have time to register it was your uncle. You’d been so scared that Joffrey would find out soon after you’d told your mother. That he’d be so enraged he’d send someone to take Lucia out of your arms and kill her in front of you.

Tyrion saw the fear in your eyes, how you clutched the back of the little girl’s head.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you but how could you tell her? What if Joffrey finds out? He’ll have her slaughtered in front of you to prove a point.” He calmed down watching as you turned to walk to the window.

“I won’t let him. I’ll die before I let him touch her.”

Tyrion had scoffed at your statement. But you seemed so serious about anything involving the little girl you’d named.

“I’ll kill him before he touches me.”

* * *

“Jon Snow?” You whispered opening the door slowly

You felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you into the room, the door closing shortly after. A pair of lips against yours within seconds. You had closed your eyes in an instant. You could feel a hand go up to your cheek and try to pull you deeper into the kiss.

Your hands went up to his cheeks, your last two fingers going behind his ears and your index and middle resting at the base of his ears and your thumbs on the apples of his cheeks.

You pulled away and opened your eyes to reveal a very dimly lit room with a very happy looking Jon Snow not very far from your face. A smile had spread across your face. “Why did you ask me here, Jon Snow?”

His smile had faded away as he stared into your eyes. His dark eyes having a the highlights of the flames coming from the fireplace.

“Jon?”

“I’m leaving for the Night’s Watch.”

Your heart sank as you looked at him. He’d looked down at you seeing the hurt in your eyes.

“When?”

“When you leave for King’s Landing.”

“In the morning?”

He nodded. And you’d felt your heart breaking. Reaching around your neck you took off the pendant that Miza had given you and placed it in Jon’s right hand. He tried to hand it back, but you grabbed his hand tightly. Trapping the pendant between his larger hand and your smaller one.

* * *

“If you kill him-“

“People will thank me. Everyone believes he’s the son of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. That his true born name is Joffrey Waters of King’s Landing. That him, my brother and sister and I are all the bastards born of Incest from the Lannisters.”

Tyrion stared at you. You were facing the window that overlooked the entire city. Lucia’s head was over your shoulder, and she had a small fistful of your golden hair and her mouth open and her salvia getting on the dress you were wearing.

“You once said to my mother, her only redeeming qualities was the fact that she loves her children. If you say I’m so much like my mother. What are mine?”

He was taken aback by your question. But while looking at you, he could point out everything that was Jaime’s, and everything that was your mother’s. You had inherited the fixed upright posture of your mother, but held yourself the way Jaime did.

“You’re very strong. No matter how much people tell you you’re not. You love your child to no end, anyone can see that. And you’re very loyal, and very brave.”

You nodded to yourself watching as people moved like ants down in the city. “Do you know what my name is?”

“Y/N Baratheon.”

“No. Y/N of house Lannister. And I will make a vow to everyone in this city and the other six kingdoms, that I will kill King Joffrey, and give the throne to my brother Tommen.”

“You’re a Lannister, and you want to kill another Lannister?”

“Lannister’s are thoughtful. We think things through. We fight battles and we bring honor to our house. He brings dishonor to not just Lannister, but Baratheon. He’s no king.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

“She’s pretty”

Sansa looked at you as you sewed, needle in hand and Lucia not far away from you in her cradle with Miza who seemed to be reading

“Who?”

Sansa and you didn’t need titles to speak to each other. She was the closest thing you’d had to a friend in a long time. She was family to you. Her southern looks fit next to you perfectly. She was paler than you of course. But you both had very similar personalities, and the both of you cared for Lucia more than anything

“Lady Margery. She’s the definition of a woman born in The Reach. She smirks like she knows when the world is going to end. Being her, I have no doubt.”

You looked up and saw Sansa smiling at you. A smile spread across your face, and like young children you’d jumped up and hugged each other with the gleefulness you couldn’t show when Ser Loras had asked for Joffrey to take Margery as his queen.

“You don’t have to marry him!” You exclaimed happily

“Why are you happy! I’m the one who’s happy!”

You could hear Miza laughing at the two of you as you pulled away from the hug and held onto the back of her upper arm

“I’m happy he doesn’t get someone as amazing as you!”

Sansa just smiled at you before giving you a hug. “My father always did like you.”

You smiled sadly before hearing Shae come in. “You two seem happy.” She observed

“Because we are” You said with a smile.

* * *

Lucia was getting larger. Turning from a helpless baby who needed your to do everything for her, to her crawling across the room, and rolling around in her cradle. Just a month ago, she developed a fear of people she didn’t know. She always seemed very cautious around people like Shae, Petyr, Joffrey and even your own mother. Always grabbing a fistful of your dress that was resting on your chest. She seemed most trusting and happy with you, Sansa and Miza. But when you woke up to her small, warm hands touching your face, you couldn’t help but smile.

Your bed was large enough to hold Myrcella and Tommen whenever they had nightmares and decided they wanted to be in your bed for comfort. So sometimes you’d go to sleep with her in your arms.

“Hi little girl.” You greeted with a smile opening your eyes

“Hi!”

Your eyes went wide and your smile dropped as you stared at her. She was smiling at you so happily

“Hi?” You questioned

“Hi!” Lucia exclaimed.

A smile reappeared on your face as you picked her up and sat up.

“You just said your first word.” You mumbled to yourself looking at her as she kept the happy smile on her face.

“Your dad would be so proud of you.” You added kissing her head before hearing a knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Margery.”

You looked to the door and stood up, resting Lucia against your hip and walked to the door opening it to reveal Margery with that smile that often looked more like a plotting smirk.

“Margery, come in.” You offered.

She smiled at you and walked into the room, looking at her surroundings. The little wooden toys strewn about the room, little blankets that were pink and yellow on your bed and hanging off the edge of Lucia’s cradle

“I was wondering, if you’d like to join my grandmother and I in the gardens. Sansa will be there of course. And you can bring your little girl.” Margaery said turning to you to look at the baby who was staring right back at her.

“What’s her name?”

“Lucia.”

“What a beautiful name.”

You nodded awkwardly hefting Lucia up so she rested on your waist instead of your hip.

“Would you like to come with us to the gardens?”

You nodded with a small forced smile. She smiled back and continued to speak

“I’ll be right outside.”

* * *

Lady Olenna was amusing to be around. How she spoke of the people around her, and how she cooed over Lucia who had happily been taken out of your arms and been held by Olenna who had one of the women around the two of you make her a crown.

You told her it was unnecessary but just twenty minutes later Lucia had a crown made of flowers on her head. The yellow and white daisies contrasting the hair that the crown sat onto of.

“She would look beautiful in a real crown. Maybe one day she’ll have one.”

“I doubt it.” You responded

Olenna looked at you confused for a moment before realizing what you meant and shook her head. She looked down at Lucia who was happily sitting on Olenna’s lap.

“A bastard name means nothing in the royal family. Especially with a little girl who already has the beauty of her mother.”

You smiled at her as Margaery came back with Sansa by her side

“Lady Sansa, it is my honor to present my grandmother the Lady Olenna of House Tyrell.”

Sansa looked at you with a smile before turning her attention to Margaery’s grandmother who held her hand out for Sansa to kiss, much like she had done to you just moments ago.

“Kiss me, child.”

Sansa took Olenna’s hand and kissed the top of her knuckles.

“It’s so good of you to visit me and my foolish flock of hens.” Olenna said before adding “We’re very sorry for your losses.”

Olenna was good to be around and Lucia seemed to like her. Very blunt about things, never once beating around the bush.

You had gone to sitting under the shade at a medal table. You where next to Sansa, and Margaery and Olenna sat across from you, Lucia now having been passed to Margaery who seemed happy to hold the little girl

“Now, I want you two to tell me the truth. About this royal boy, this Joffrey”

You looked at Lady Olenna and then to Sansa

“I…I” Sansa stammered

“You, You? Who else would know better? We’ve heard some troubling tales, is there any truth to them? Has he mistreated the two of you?”

You looked at Lady Olenna before looking down at your lap. You were scared that if you said anything, somehow it would get to Joffrey.

“Joff- King Joffrey, he— His Grace is very fair and handsome and as brave as a lion.” Sansa was able to get out

“Yes, all Lannisters are Lions. Even this one who looked ready to pounce when I laid eyes on Lucia. And when a Tyrell farts, it smells like a rose. But how kind is he? How clever? Has he a good heart a gentle hand?” Olenna asked

“I’m to be his wife. I only want to know what that means.” Margaery added before readjusting the flowers on your daughter’s head.

You heard footsteps approaching and looking over saw one of Olenna’s servers with a plate with Lemon cakes.

“Bring me some cheese.” Olenna said

“The cheese will be served after the cakes, my lady.”

“The cheese will be served when I want it served. And I want it served now.”

The server nodded before leaving to get the cheese.

“Are you frightened, child?” Olenna asked Sansa “No need for that.” Olenna said offering a lemon cake to the both of you.

Taking one you took a bite out of it as soon as you had it.

“Only women here. Tell us the truth. No harm will come to the two of you, or the beautiful little girl.”

“My father always told the truth.” Sansa said quietly

“Yes, he had that reputation. And they named him traitor and took his head-”

“Joffrey” you interrupted “Joffrey did that.” You added. You barley knew Ned, but having to see him killed brought something inside of you out. Some sort of hatred for him you never knew you had.

“He promised he would be merciful and he cut my father’s head off, and he said that was mercy. Then he took me up on the walls and made me look at it.”

You let out a shaky breath looking to Lucia who had fallen asleep in Margaery’s arms

“Go on.” Margaery stated looking at Sansa

“I— I can’t. I never meant- my father was a traitor. My brother as well. I have traitor’s blood. Please don’t make me say anymore.”

“She’s terrified, grandmother. Just look at her”

“Speak freely, children.” Olenna stated. “We would never betray your confidence, I swear it.”

“He’s a monster.” Sansa stated, tear building up in her eyes.

“Ah. That’s a pity.”

“Please, don’t stop the wedding.”

“Have no fear. The Lord Oaf of Highgarden is determined that Margaery shall be queen. Even so, we thank you for the truth.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

“Ah, Y/n. Good of you to join me.”

You hadn’t spoken to your grandfather in over a year and a half. When he had come to King’s Landing during the Battle of Blackwater Bay, he hadn’t spoken to you. You could only assume that the moment he heard of your daughter and that you still remained unmarried had greatly displeased him. Not only was he displeased with you, he was probably displeased with your mother and most likely hated your daughter as much as he hated your uncle Tyrion

“I don’t think I had much of a choice.” You stated walking to the table in the center of the room. No doubt used for the small counsel meetings. Grabbing one of the backs of the chairs you pulled it out and sat down on the leather cushion that was bolted into the fine red wood.

“Where’s yo-“

“Lucia is with my mother.” You confirmed dragging the chair to the table by pulling on the table, due to the weight of the table against you, it had pulled you in as planned.

“Hm. I wanted to speak with you”

 _No shit._ You thought to yourself. Why else would he request to see you here. It had to be urgent or else you wouldn’t be speaking to him.

“I assumed as much”

“I have discussed this with your mother.” He said pulling out the chair across from you to sit down as well.

“And what did you discuss?”

Tywin Lannister. He had that look he gave people when he was exasperated with you. You knew why. You brought him great shame. For being a mother to a bastard.

“Within the fortnight you are to be married to Loras Tyrell.”

* * *

“I will not marry Loras!” You screamed

Your hands were clutched into fists, your face no doubt turning red from anger. Tyrion and your mother looked at you in shock. They’d never seen you so angry. You’d never been known to have such a temper. You were always calm.

“Little Lion Plea-“

Cersei tried to touch your shoulder while approaching you but you had practically growled and shoved her hand away

“I am not a golden rose! I’m a lion! I will not raise my daughter in The Reach to be some pompous southerner!”

You were angry, Miza had taken Lucia away from the room as soon as you’d barged in. The loud slamming on the table and your heels stomping loudly on the stone ground making the child begin to cry. You hadn’t even noticed in the heat of your own anger.

“Y/N -“

“You don’t understand! Tyrion you got to marry the woman you loved when you were sixteen! I don’t love Loras! I love Jon!”

Cersei never met Jon. She’d gotten a quick glance at him a few times while in Winterfell. She didn’t care what happened to him. But seeing how you seemed to care so much for someone you hadn’t seen in over a year made her upset. Seeing how much your two weeks in Winterfell had changed you. How in that time you managed to set yourself up to be a mother, how you had set yourself up to fall in love and never be able to see that love blossom like Cersei wanted for you. Even if she wanted to have Jon leave the Night’s Watch to be with you, she couldn’t. He was beyond the law.

“I didn’t love your father, Little Lion.” She tried to comfort.

“Don’t you remember?! He wasn’t my father!”

You could feel the anger turning into frustration, so much so that tears started to build up in your eyes.

“I don’t want to marry him, I told Jon-“

“What did you tell Jon?”

* * *

Your head rested on your arms against his bare chest. Looking up at him from your current position. The yellow and orange light from the fire illuminating his pale skin. He was still breathing heavily. And his curls strewn across the pillow of his bed.

“I love you, Jon Snow.” You whispered. You felt his hand grab onto your hip and turn you so you where on your side and looking him in the eyes. Himself now also on his side.

“And I love you, Y/N Baratheon.”

The biting cold of the northern air hit your shoulders but the warmth of the furs and his hand on your hip was enough for you not to care.

“Do you know what I promise?”

He shook his head, brows furrowing in curiosity “I don’t believe I do.”

“You’re the only man I’ll ever love. I don’t want to be married off to someone like my father wants me to be. I don’t want to get married at all unless I’ll marry you. But I know I’ll never see you again after tonight. So I promise you I won’t ever marry anyone.”

Jon sat up slightly and looked down at you. Your gold hair in a loose braid which had been tighter than it was just a few hours ago.

“You can’t make that promise, you’re a princess. You have a duty.”

You shook your head and sat up as well moving to straddle his lap. Your knees on either side of his hips and your ankles touching your bare thighs.

Reaching up to his hair you pushed it back to have a clear view of his face.

“I promise, I will never marry anyone. And that you will be the only man I will ever love.”

He smiled at you and pulled you into a kiss by grabbing the back of your neck.

“I promise, that I’ll always love you. And that I will always remember you. Even in forty years.” He mumbled into the kiss.

Laughing you pulled away and shook your head. “If you make it that long.”

* * *

“I told him I would never love anyone else, that I would never marry anyone unless I could marry him.”

Cersei sighed and shook her head. Tyrion looked down at the table from your face which was now turning red again from the tears that pricking your eyes.

“Why would you do that? You know you could never marry him.”

She’d walked to you, as you had walked to the other end of the table to not face her.

“Exactly. I never want to marry someone who isn’t him.”

“You already bore him a child.” Tyrion pointed out.

Your mother had pulled you into a tight embrace. Stroking your hair and rubbing small circles in your back.

“Lucia will be a Tyrell in a fortnight, she will no longer be a bastard.”

You pulled away from the embrace looking up at your mother. She looked slightly offended that you had pulled away, but let you do so none the less.

“What?” You asked

“Loras said he would claim Lucia as his bastard in front of Joffrey, and ask for him to legitimize her as his. To make her heir to Highgarden, Lady paramount of The Reach and when it comes time, she will become the wardeness of the south.”

You fully pulled away from her and stepped far away, your back hitting the wall. Your eyes were wide as you stared at her

“How could you? She’s not a Tyrell.”

“No, but the timing does work out quite nicely for you.”

You then went angry again. What was this to her. Some sort of game on how to make it seem like Lucia wasn’t a bastard’s bastard? She kept trying. Telling people that a high lord’s son had fathered your daughter. She finally got what she wanted. Someone stupid enough to claim Lucia as their own.

“Sister-“

“He was in King’s landing when you found out you were pregnant. We can say that Lucia came earlier than expected. While he had deserted King’s Landing with Renly Baratheon. That you where out on the streets with Arya Stark.”

“I hate you.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Loras was taller than you, his hair was much like Tyrion’s in the fact that while it was blonde, it was a very dirty blonde that curled around his face. He had tan skin that matched yours and his eyes were a light blue.

“I like your pin.” You said through gritted teeth, holding Lucia who seemed to be unhappy with everything that was going on. She hadn’t slept in the night, instead she was fussy the entire time. She hadn’t taken a nap in hours. Even when she had been fed she seemed unhappy.

“Oh, it’s a broach. Although… I suppose they’re the same thing.”

You looked up at him from your daughter and shook your head. “You can’t claim her. She looks nothing like you.” You stated painfully pushing the dark hair off of her forehead as she seemed to grimace in pain.

“No. But I do know she can’t live as a bastard her entire life-“

“She’s not a bastard!”

She was, you knew she was. You hated to admit it. You had so often associated bastards with being the children of the women in brothels who didn’t love the fathers of their children. Until you met Jon, you knew his mother couldn’t have been some woman in a brothel. He had something about him that gave the feeling that both sides of his family were highborn.

Your daughter was born out of the last night you ever spoke to Jon. She was a product of love that you didn’t know how to explain. You’d loved Jon so much you didn’t have words. Often times to awestruck that he’d loved you for you to even be able to comprehend anything else going on around you.

Loras looked at you and sighed. What was he getting himself into? He was marrying you. A woman who’d been given life by Cersei Lannister. Cersei Lannister who was nothing but a lion. Which had rubbed off on you.

“Let me claim her. She will be Lucia of house Tyrell, first of her name. She will be wardeness of the south and lady of high garden one day. She’ll wear green and blue silk dresses, he hair curled and done up like a southerner. This is the best option for both of us.”

You looked ahead at the flowers that surrounded you. How could this be the best option. Of course you’d heard the rumors that Loras didn’t like women. It was a well known rumor. But him claiming Lucia as his heir made you upset.

“Fine.”

* * *

“Sansa’s to marry my uncle! My mother and grandfather are the most controlling people I have ever met!”

Miza sighed as she bounced Lucia who had begun to cry a few minutes ago.

“Princess, I’m sure that they think this is for the best.” She tried to reason.

You were throwing dresses into your trunk, however many you could. The purple ones, the yellow ones, you began to throw in Lucia’s outfits that Miza and you had made together.

“I don’t want to be Lady Y/N of house Tyrell! I don’t want Luci to be Lucia of house Tyrell!” You complained.

The wedding was to take place in High Garden. No one you knew would be there, everyone was his family. Yours had to stay here. Sansa was to stay here and if Loras didn’t claim Lucia as his own to Joffrey today, she would also have to stay here.

Hearing a knock at the door you groaned and stomped over to the door opening it. Those damn hinges squeaking louder than a fork against a dinner plate.

When Loras came into view he had a smile. “Princess Y/N. May I come in?”

You moved aside for him to walk in, but closed the door quick enough to keep the guards out. “What do you want?” You asked impatiently. The crying of your daughter putting you on edge.

He held up a letter and opened it and began to read aloud

“I, King Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the realm, hereby name Lucia Storm, Lucia Tyrell, from this day until her last day.”

He looked at you to the child in Miza’s arms who was still crying.

“So. She’s your child now.” You stated walking over to Miza and taking Lucia from her.

“She’s the heir to High Garden when I die.”

Scoffing you shook your head resting her on your hip and held eye contact with him. “You need a son to carry on your family name. She’ll one day marry some high lord you decided to sell her off to in exchange for something of lesser value than herself, and she’ll become Lucia something of another land.”

He placed the letter on your bed and grabbed one of the dresses you had thrown onto the bed in an attempt to get it into the trunk. He walked over to the opened side of the trunk and folded it neatly before placing it inside the box.

“She’s your daughter. You gave her something no one else could have. You gave her life. Carried her inside of yourself for nine months no matter how wrong someone would think it was. If anyone chooses who she marries, it will be you.” He said before walking over to you and gently taking the crying little girl into his own arms.

“She’s not mine. We both know that very well. But she holds my name now. So I will call her my daughter. I will raise her as my own as long as you allow me. I will never betray your trust.”

You looked as Lucia fussed in his arms as well and rested her head on his shoulder. This may be the only way you could keep Joffrey from hurting her. From using that damn crossbow on her.

“You may do whatever you would like with your life, even in our marriage. But if you ever break your promise about my daughter. I will kill you and I will burn your body on a steak in front of your family to watch. As a lesson that no one hurts my baby girl.”

He nodded and looked at Lucia “I guess it’s a good thing I’ll never hurt her.” He responded handing her back to you and heading for the door grabbing the handle to walk out.

“And Loras!.” You said loudly.

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at you as you held the fussy baby.

“Remember. I will burn you if you hurt her.“


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Twelve Months Ago you had been locked up in your room with blood running down your legs and a baby trying to come into the world.

Twelve Months ago the story of Y/N Baratheon and Lucia Storm nearly ended in childbirth. It was something you hated to speak about. How you’d passed out right after the Maester came in, and how you still didn’t know how long you were out for.

“Happy name day Luci.” You whispered to Lucia. You’d been married. Tyrion and Sansa had been married. Sansa seemed jealous of you. Saying that she felt she got the short end of the deal. It could have been worse. When they got Jaime back they could have had them get married.

It wasn’t like you and Loras did anything. He claimed Lucia for a reason. He didn’t want to consummate the marriage. And you also knew why the decided to marry Sansa to Tyrion. To keep her as a prisoner still.

Loras treated Lucia as his own. He played with her, he’d put her to bed when you were to exhausted to get up from your own to put her into her cradle.

“Hi Mama!” Lucia responded as your hands reached down to grab her from her cradle.

You were back in King’s Landing. After all Margaery and your brother were to be married soon. She wanted your opinions on everything, especially her dress. You needed to be there anyway, You were Joffrey’s sister and Margaery’s sister by law.

* * *

“Lady Olenna!” You greeted standing up from the chair you’d been seated in. She’d asked you here, to the gardens. To the exact same place you’d first met her in.

“Lady Y/N Tyrell.” She greeted with a small smile before looking to Lucia who was resting on your hip.

“And hello to you Lucia, Happy name day.” She greeted. Lucia smiled brightly and waved her fist in the air to try and wave “Hi!”

You laughed slightly as Lucia tried to bounce in your arms.

“I wanted to speak with you about your brother.”

You stopped laughing and looked from your daughter to Olenna who was giving you a look. You didn’t know how to describe it. Wether it was a knowing look or a plotting look much like the kind your mother always wore upon her face.

“Oh? What about him?”

She sighed and gestured for you to sit down once again

She pulled out one of the chairs across from you and sat down. She pulled out a necklace from a pocket in her dress and threw it onto the table. There were crystals hanging on it and it was made nicely. One of the prettiest necklaces you’d ever seen.

“I had this necklace made for Lady Sansa.”

Furrowing your eyebrows you reached for it and took it in your hands. It would look nice on her. A pretty necklace for a pretty northern girl.

“Why are you telling me?” You questioned feeling Lucia’s smaller hand touch the necklace as well.

“I want your brother, the king, dead.”

You looked up from the necklace and at the older woman a small smirk on your face of bemusement.

“Doesn’t all of the seven kingdoms?” You questioned bouncing your knee as Lucia tried to pull the necklace to herself to play with it.

“Those little crystals will kill him.” She stated pointing to the necklace. You looked down at the necklace and took a close look. “Poison. You plan to poison the king?” You whispered setting the necklace back down on the table.

“I plan for you to poison the king.”

You scoffed before laughing and shaking your head. “How do you plan for me to do that? It’ll be around Sansa’s neck! She would never take something so beautiful off!”

Olenna nodded with a smirk of her own, “I know, I also know you hate Joffrey. And that the only reason you let Loras claim Lucia as his own was to protect her from Joffrey. Even I know that Lucia isn’t his. She has northern blood, and her looks give it away. You want to keep her from being hurt by him?”

You nodded and held Lucia closer to you.

“At Margaery and Joffrey’s wedding, You’ll take one of the gems and drop it in his wine. Ser Dontos will give her the necklace. And Lord Baelish will get Sansa out of the capital, and take her to the Veil.”

* * *

You sat in the windowsill of your chambers, Lucia was on the ground playing with the wooden doll Loras had made for her for her name day. The fire in the fireplace crackling making it feel calm. The two of you trying to sleep as far away from each other as possible. He would sleep on the love seat while Lucia and you had the bed.

You were calm, before the door began to open, the sound of the hinges starting to get on your nerves.

“I swear to the gods that if you-“ You had turned from the window and to the door, you expected to see one of your mother’s handmaidens who kept getting on your nerves. But you were greeted with Jaime. His hair dirty and greasy, clothing covered in dried mud. And the first thing you noticed that was different was that his arm was in a sling and his hand was missing.

You hadn’t seen him in over a year. Since the early months of your pregnancy. He hadn’t even known he was…a grandfather. You could smell him from across the room, but you had gone onto auto pilot. Pushing yourself from your position sitting in the windowsill and ran across the room to hug him.

Your arms wrapped around his torso tightly. He was taken back, but he still wrapped his left arm around you and held you close.

“I missed you dad” You mumbled

He smiled and let out a breath through his nose. “I missed you too Y/N” He said, he didn’t care how you found out. He was just happy that his oldest daughter finally knew. That he had a child who acknowledged that he was their father.

You pulled away and looked up at him with a big smile. “I’m glad you’re alive.” You spoke

“As am I. But I heard a rumor that you married Loras Tyrell.”

You nodded with a forced smile. “He’s kind. I’m lucky that I was betrothed to him.”

“Mama!“ You turned your heard to the high pitched child voice to see why Lucia was trying to get your attention.

When you looked in the direction you heard the voice you saw Lucia’s hand in the fireplace, the flames incasing her arm.

“No!” You screamed running over to her, pulling her arm out of the fire, the flame biting at your skin, the pain made you flinch but you pulled her away and looked over her hand. She wasn’t harmed. No burnt skin that was peeling back from the muscle or any bubbling skin like you expected to see.

Jaime’s heavy footsteps ran towards you and the child and looked over as well. He was confused upon seeing that you had a burn on your hand, but she was fine.

She was unscathed, her skin still smooth and blemish free.

“How is she okay?” He asked


	16. Chapter Sixteen

You were beginning to get sick of it. The constant talking about the royal wedding that was to happen within the week. Sansa was as expected, upset. She rarely spoke to your mother, an to your uncle Tyrion. You didn’t blame her. Your grandfather had rewarded the man who killed her brother. A man who had been his ally and who had betrayed Robb Stark. Roose Bolton had to have lost his mind if he thought there weren’t going to be repercussions for this.

“Royal wedding this, royal wedding that! It’s all about the royal wedding of Joffrey Baratheon first of his name! King of the Andals and The First Men! Lord of The Seven Kingdoms! Everyone’s obsessing over it!”

Loras laughed at you from his spot on the ground. “You seem to be the one obsessing over it.” He stated as he handed Lucia another toy to play with as she threw the ball across the room.

“Joffrey’s no Lord! And if he’s no Lord he’s no King! Margaery would rule the seven kingdoms better than him, and we both know that. The only way she’d ever even get the chance is if Joffrey were to die early and she had his son who was to young to rule!”

You brushed out your hair and let Miza begin to put it up into the traditional southern look that your mother requested of you.

“Margaery is kind, and patient. She’d be a better mother than a ruler. She lacks the heart. Some people must be punished, she could never put a sword to a man’s throat and cut his head off.” Loras responded standing up and picking Lucia up and walking over.

“If they have children, they’ll be as murderous as him. I just know it.” You breathed out.

“Soon enough my lady, we’ll be in High Garden. We’ll be able to raise Luci and give her fancy dresses, and she’ll be safe and away from the king.”

You shook your head and looked at Lucia’s hand as they came into view. Her hand had been unharmed. You’d seen it in the flames. Playing with the fire. You knew you saw it because Jaime saw it. And while pulling her out, you’d been the one burned.

“I can feel it. Deep in my bones that another war will happen in our lifetime. But I have a feeling Joffrey won’t be involved.”

Loras gave you a look, your eyes locking together as he handed you Lucia. He’d grown to be a friend. The type of friend who insisted on messing with your hair like Miza did just because he was bored and had nothing better to do. The type who brought you and Lucia lemon cakes from the kitchens just because you’d mentioned you’d liked them once. He would help take care of Lucia. That made you forever grateful that although her father was as north as you could be and still be in Westeros, she had a father right here. Who had helped Miza make another crown of flowers for her small head out of yellow roses.

“The war of The Five Kings just ended.” He tried to reason.

“Wars can start over anything. Stolen Stark girls. Beheaded Starks. And just because the last war ended with a Stark getting killed by Rose Bolton, doesn’t mean the next one is far off.”

* * *

“Are we not going to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Y/N. She had her hand in the fire and she didn’t cry, or burn.”

You glared up at your father, Lucia in your arms ready to go to the banquet in honor of Margaery and Joffrey. A loose silk blanket in your arms and around your daughter.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You stated firmly walking to the door.

“Y/N, you and I both know that the only people who could never be burned, were the Targaryens.”

You stopped, left hand on the door and in your right arm, Lucia with her wooden doll clutched tightly and her head resting on your shoulder.

“The only Targaryen left, is across the Narrow Sea. She doesn’t have dragon’s blood in her. It’s impossible.” You stated opening the squeaking door and leaving the small stone room and entering the large stone corridor.

* * *

“From House Tyrell, and the people of the Reach, it is my honor to present you with this wedding cup. May you and my daughter Margaery drink deep and live long”

Rolling your eyes at Mace Tyrell you handed Lucia a grape which she happily shoved in her mouth and began to chew with the little teeth that just a few months ago had been giving her pains, but now she seemed to be overly grateful for. As were you. You no longer had to breastfeed her now that she could eat her own food and was content with it.

“A handsome goblet My Lord, or shall I call you father?”

Joffrey, even when he was happy had the strangest facial expressions to go along with it. He always looked angry. Cold blue eyes that never seemed pleased with whatever he’d received.

“I shall be honored, Your Grace” Mace stated as he bowed to your brother and went back to his seat.

“May I hold her?” Sansa asked shakily.

Looking over to Sansa you smiled and nodded, gently passing the one year old girl to her aunt.

“Hi!” Lucia greeted.

Sansa had a bittersweet smile on her face and kissed Lucia’s head and held her tightly, much like you always had in her early months of life. But you had done it for different reasons. Your’s was the fear that Joffrey would harm her. That at any moment Ser Meryn would rip her out of your arms and kill her.

Sansa was holding her close, because it was all the family she had left. Jon was at the wall. Her mother and father dead, Bran and Rickon missing completely. Arya assumed dead, and Robb Stark killed.

Sansa was holding her close because she needed to be grounded to something.

You then looked up as Podrick brought over a book from you uncle to your brother. You’d stopped paying attention. Hearing something about Aegon the Unworthy and Daeron the Good. The two had been kings. Tyrion had read you, Marcella and Tommen the story once.

But your attention was brought back when your grandfather’s gift was brought out, A sword in it’s sheath. But you listened carefully.

“One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the captial. Your Grace, freshly forged in your honor.”

You looked at the sword and then at Joffrey as he jumped out of his chair and rounded the table to get to the sword. He was standing in front of his family now. Hand grabbing onto the hilt of the sword and pulling it from the sword.

The ringing of the steel caught Lucia off guard as you saw her try to curl herself up in Sansa’s arms. Especially when Joffrey began to swing it around

“Careful Your Grace, Nothing cuts like Valyrian steel.” Grand Maester Pycelle stated. He smelled like a dead cat. Not that it had anything to do with anything. You just noticed it.

“So they say.” He smirked flipping it in his hand to look at the other side of the sword. The golden hilt had jewels, intricate designs in it making it look fit for a ‘king’

Joffrey had then swung his sword. Hitting the book that Tyrion had just gave him moments earlier. The book cut in half, with pages flaying everywhere as he kept swinging. Lucia had begun to whimper, and you could see in the corner of your eye Sansa rubbing her back to calm her down.

He then turned to the small gathering of high lords and laddies of King’s landing “Such a great sword should have a name! What shall I call her?”

“Stormbringer!”

“Terminus!”

“Widow’s Wail!”

“Wolf’sbane!”

_Don’t encourage him._

“Widow’s Wail! I like that!”

Sighing you leaned back in your chair watching as he chuckled and then turned back to your family and looked at Sansa. “Everytime I use it, it’ll be like cutting off Ned Stark’s head all over again.”

It clicked in your head. It had been freshly forged. Was this really your family? Golden Roses? Lions who involved themselves with their siblings? And the oldest Lion of them all. Not only was Ned Stark killed with his own sword, his sword was melted down for the brat who ordered the murder in the first place.

You’d never wished death upon anyone before. But now, now you hoped Joffrey suffered a pain filled death, choking on his blood with his throat swelling up so tightly he couldn’t breath.

You hoped the poison around Sansa’s neck was what people called ‘the strangler’

Joffrey put the sword back in it’s sheath and eyed Sansa as he walked to his seat again.

* * *

“Could you believe it? My Grandfather has no honor. He wins a war, great. He wins another, all because he had someone do it off the battlefield, when they weren’t prepared for an attack. He melts down the sword that killed it’s owner. And then gives it to the idiot king who ordered for the owner to be killed.”

Loras nodded and looked at you. He understood that you were close with the Stark girl. But this was something he’d never seen before. He’d never seen someone so upset about deaths that hadn’t happened in their family. Of people who they barley know.

“My Lady, who was Lucia’s father?”

It was the only reasonable thing he could think of. Was Robb Stark her father? Was that the reason you were so upset.

“Jon Snow. Ned Stark’s bastard son.” You said without a waver in your tone.

“Is that why you’re so upset over it?”

You turned to Loras and glared at him 

“Do you know what I promised Jon Snow? I promised to keep his little sister safe. I promised to keep Arya safe. I couldn’t! I don’t know where she is, or if she’s alive. Then I had Lucia. She was Jon’s family, I had to protect her. That was all I kept thinking. That she’s just a little part of Jon who needed to be kept alive! Sansa needs protecting. But I can’t protect her when my family is the reason her’s keeps dying!”

Loras looked at you. You were angry, you were upset.

“I broke a promise. But there is one thing I will promise, a promise I will keep! One day, when my daughter learns of her father, she will want revenge, if she is a true Lannister or a true Stark. And there’s no guarantee that she’ll be able to get it. There’s no guarantee that she’ll ever hear of what happened. She’s to small for armor. To small to wield a sword. What my daughter cannot avenge, I will.”

* * *

You sat Lucia down in Sansa’s lap and smiled as Lucia greeted Sansa for the hundredth time today. You’d reached over for Sansa’s hair and moved it, gently taking a crystal from the necklace without her noticing.

Lady Olenna walked over, smiling at you. Seeing you had the crystal in your hands. She spoke with Sansa as you moved to your seat which was next to Loras on the other end of the table from Sansa. You watched as Tyrion took the infant from Sansa and held her himself.

Music was playing, depressing music for a wedding that would end with a bang. You sighed heavily as Joffrey threw coins at them

“My dear, sister. Tell me, do you like theatre?”

Looking at Joffrey you didn’t know how to respond.

“I’ve never seen theatre.” You responded

“Everyone! Silence!” Joffrey shouted hitting his fork on his goblet.

Shaking your head you turned away. Looking at the giant lion that was off to the side of the table.

“Clear the floor. There’s been to much amusement here today. A royal wedding is not amusement, a royal wedding is history. Time has come for all of us to contemplate our history. My Lords…”  
  
The mouth of the lion began to open, and you stood walking to the other side of the table to grab Lucia. Taking Lucia from Tyrion you went back to your seat handing the child to Mace, who believed that, Lucia was in fact, his grandchild.

“My ladies… I give you, King Joffrey, Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy! The War of The Five Kings!”

You watched as dwarves came running out, in costumes. And running around the floor. Making fools out of everyone but Joffrey.

Loras had got up and stormed off. After they had began to make fun of Renly, but you stayed. You wanted to watch every moment so you could see just how sweet this revenge would be for you.

Joffrey was challenging anyone. Anyone who wanted to go against him. People who thought he was still unworthy to be king.

“Uncle? How about you? I’m sure they have a spare costume.”

Closing your eyes in frustration you could hear Lucia babbling on to Olenna and Mace.

Hearing your uncle stand up you looked over, seeing him face your brother

“One taste of combat was enough for me, your grace. I would like to keep what remains of my face. I think you should fight him. This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery on the field of battle”

You smirked and looked at your mother. You had all cowered in a room with handmaidens. Your mother drunk. And she’d handed you a vial of poison. Telling you that if Stannis was to get through the gates, to poison yourself and Lucia.

You remembered it because you still had the vial.

You knew, and so did Tyrion that Joffrey hadn’t stepped a foot on the field of battle.

“I speak as a first hand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new valyrian steel sword, and show everyone. How a true king gets his throne. Careful though. This one” Tyrion joked, pointing to one of the dwarves in front of the crowd “Seems mad with lust. It would be a tragedy for the king to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night.”

You let out a soft chuckle and watched as Joffrey grabbed his goblet and walked over to Tyrion and without a word dumped the win over his head.

“A fine vintage. Shame that it spilled.” Tyrion said tasting the wine.

You sat there, watching as Joffrey made a fool of your uncle

“Kneel, kneel before your king.”

Tyrion looked up at Joffrey with his jaw clenched tightly as he held up the goblet now refilled with wine up for the king.

“I said, kneel!”

“Look! The pie!”

You looked up from Tyrion to the large pie being carried out to the floor. The yellow color bringing more life to the already red decor. You watched as Joffrey placed his goblet on the edge of the table. You stood going to walk over to Sansa, but before you made it there you dropped the crystal into the wine.

“Be ready.” You whispered to her before going to your seat once again just as Joffrey cut the pie with his brand new sword and doves came flying out.

Slices were brought to everyone. You took yours and took a small fork full off and let Lucia take it to put in her mouth.

You saw Sansa and Tyrion getting up to leave and you began to panic. She couldn’t leave. She needed to stay. Baelish needed to get her out and to the veil, where her aunt Liza was.

“Uncle! Where are you going? You’re my cupbarer remember?”

“I thought I might change out of these wet clothes, Your Grace.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no. You’re perfect just the way you are. Serve me my wine.”

You watched anxiously as Tyrion grabbed the goblet and handed it to Joffrey who downed all of it.

Olenna looked to you with a smirk, and you gave her a smile in return.

“Mm, good. Needs washing down.” Joffrey laughed

“If it please, Your Grace, Lady Sansa is very tired”

“No-“

Joffrey let out a cough

“You’ll wait here!”

He kept trying to speak but the coughing would stop him. You watched as Tyrion approached him, “Your Grace?”

Margaery grabbed onto Joffrey’s shoulder in concern. He turned to Margaery, as he began gasping for air.

“He’s choking!” Margaery yelled

“Help the poor boy!” Olenna shouted in response

“Joffrey!” You yelled

Your mother had stood and pushed past your grandfather. You were now standing. Taking Lucia from Mace and holding her in your arms trying to keep her from seeing Joffrey.

He stumbled forward down to the lower floor clutching his throat trying to breath. And all you could think, was that you hoped it hurt.

“Idiots! Help your king!” Olenna shouted once more

He then fell forward onto the floor. The crowd stood and Jaime ran to him, it was the fastest you’d ever seen a man run. For their first born son, you could assume that it was on the top of his list of things to worry about.

Your mother pushed past Margaery and ran to Joffrey pulling his head onto her lap. She was pleading with him to be okay and Jaime just stood there watching as your brother gasped for air, not knowing what to do.

He pointed, the last thing Joffrey did was point at your uncle. His blue eyes bloodshot, and his index finger pointing the Tyrion as he picked up the goblet to examine it.

“He did this.”

You shook your head as if to tell your mother no but she looked at her younger brother with hatred,

“He poisoned my son, your king. Take him. Take him!”

Members of the King’s Guard grabbed Tyrion and began to take him away.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

You swung the sword, the sound of steel hitting steel rang in your ears as you knocked Bronn’s sparing sword from his hand

He looked at you surprised and smiled in confusion before bending over to pick it up. But you were quick. And it was starting to get of Bronn’s nerves. Your own sparing sword came down, hitting his back so hard he fell to the ground. You kicked him to lay on his back and held the sword to his throat.

“Now will you help me? Now that an eighteen year old girl beat you in sparing?”

He looked surprised still, eyes still on the sword you were holding to his neck. He was impressed. The former princess had gotten him on the ground with a blunt sword to his neck.

He nodded and pushed the sword away before holding his hand up for you to take. You hand took Bronn’s as you helped pull him up.

“You’re better than your uncle that’s for sure.”

You scoffed and chuckled a little “I would hope so, he only has one hand.”

He nodded and took the sword from you and handed you his canteen of whatever liquid he decided to consume today.

“What do you need my lady?”

You uncapped the canteen and took a smell of the inside of the bottle, getting a sent of wine. Shrugging to yourself you took a drink before handing it back to him.

“I need to get Tyrion out.”

“You think your mother will let you release Tyrion?”

“Fine, I have to break him out” You corrected yourself placing your hands on your waist.

“I suppose so, but you’ll need help.” He commented grabbing his sparing sword and walking to the pack of stairs

“Are you offering help!?” You shouted after him

“Gods no!”

* * *

You’d grown so used to the look of your room, and watching as Lucia would get close to the fireplace and stick her hands in and giggle. She was closer to being two now. Just a fortnight to go. The time moved so quickly. The planning Margaery had you involved in. The planning you and Olenna had done.

You’d grown used to the window. The sight of the city below, the very city you’d ran around in while trying to protect Arya. Now you didn’t know if she was alive or dead.

The door opened and then closed. The squeaking is what usually caught your attention, but this time it was the sound of the heavy feet of your father.

You turned your head to see Jaime looking at Lucia as she played with the candle you’d given her. Normally, you wouldn’t have. But since fire seemed to be the one thing that wouldn’t hurt her, what was the harm? A few burnt dresses? Dresses she would grow out of in a fortnight anyway?

“Are you seriously letting her play with fire?”

You shrugged and made a face as she tried to cup the fire in her hands, but just ended up blowing the flame out.

“What’ll happen? She’ll be burned?”

“Y/N”

“What?

“Why did you call me here?”

“We need to get Tyrion out of a cell. You and I both know he didn’t poison Joffrey.”

You stood from your spot and grabbed Lucia, placing the candle on your desk. You rested Lucia on your hip and looked up at him. Her head resting on your shoulder as you held her to you.

“And how do you know that?”

You looked down at Lucia’s dark curls and looked back up at him.

“Poison is a woman’s weapon.”

Jaime raised a brow as you walked over to your bed, setting Lucia down and handing her wooden rose Mace had given her.

“Why would you think that?”

You stood up straight as you watched Lucia play with it. The gold paint had begun to chip and the bottom of it remaining as it had before.

“Swords are for warriors of all king. Bows for hunters of all kinds. And poison for the highborn women who were never taught to fight.”

Jaime looked at you. You’d changed more than he thought. Your golden hair had grown longer, yes. You had a child. He had a granddaughter. But you’d really changed. You had become corse. Cold to certain people. Often only being warm to him, Tyrion, Loras and Lucia. He would eve say you’d been close to the Stark girl. He’d go as far to say that you protected her as best you could. Like he heard you did for Arya.

“Who told you that?” He questioned

“The man who Joffrey had beheaded.”

“Ned Stark?”

* * *

“Lord Varys.” You greeted.

“Lady Y/N. Beautiful dress.”

The dress was gold and red. Something your mother insisted on you wearing if you were going to wear the style from the reach. A golden rose was pinned to your hip and the dress was longer than it needed to be, trailing behind you a good foot and a half. Lucia was on your hip as usual. However asleep with her doll in her hands loosely.

“No need for compliments. I called you here for a reason.”

He nodded and gestured for you to begin walking, so you did. Taking the doll from Lucia’s hand and carrying it yourself so she didn’t drop it, which would result in it breaking.

“A shame what happened to your brother.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “Is this why they call you a spider? You never liked my brother. You don’t feel bad he died.”

Varys just nodded to himself and looked at Lucia. Her chubby cheeks being more pronounced as the skin was pushed forward due to her cheek being on your shoulder.

“I don’t see the point in this meeting, so if you could tell me-“

“What do you know about Daenerys Targaryen?”

“I know everything there is to know. What thing would you like to know.”

“Everything.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

You felt guilty. Tyrion, your only uncle- well… The lines with Jaime were blurred. Tyrion had cared for you since you were born. Having been the one who gave Cersei your first doll so she could give it to you. He’d given you a dagger for your fourteenth name day. Something your mother had tried to argue with.

But Jaime said you should have it. That princesses needed to know how to protect themselves. So you were allowed to keep the golden handled dagger. The very one you’d cut Lucia’s cord with. It had been the first time you’d used it.

He’d been the one who talked Jaime into teaching you how to sword fight. You’d gotten good. You got really good. Even better when Jon began to spar with you in the woods whenever the two of you had time. The first few times you’d gotten your hair and dress dirty. After that, Jon had been the one pushed to the ground.

“Why are you plotting to get your uncle out?”

You turned to Varys from your window. You’d grown fond of that window. The sight of the city below had grown calming. Being able to listen to the people your younger brother now ruled over living like they had before. Not exactly, not since the war.

“He didn’t kill Joffrey.” You stated firmly sitting down in the windowsill as he sat on a chair by the fireplace looking at you.

You had your up the southern look Sansa had been so excited to wear once. Two large curls coming down over your shoulder, your red dress complementing your skin and hair much like your mother’s. An embroidered stag on your shoulders in golden thread. A glass of wine in your hands.

“Then who did?”

You looked to your sleeping daughter. She was in her cradle, on her back, in just the silk breeches you’d made for her. Her chest smoothly rising and falling, one of her small chubby hands on her stomach the other up by her head. Her black curls a mess atop her head. And her pale skin looking more like Jon’s everyday.

“I did.” You stated without looking up at him. Without hesitation. You just looking at your daughter. She was already so full of life. Playing in the fire and with her dolls. While Loras wasn’t her father, he acted as though he was, often making those crowns out of flowers for her which she happily showed off to Cersei and Jaime as well as Tommen who would hold her while he sat on the Iron throne.

“My. We should have called the war ‘The war of a queen and the five kings.’”

You looked up to him seeing him smirk over at you. He’d hated Joffrey, you’d known it for a long time, ever since Joffrey was a child you could see the resentment he had for your brother.

“I’m not a queen. I’m a mother. A mother who needs to get her uncle, her child and herself out of Westeros.”

* * *

The stands were built in the throne room. Splintery wood built up on either side and an accused stand right of the throne. The witness stand to the left.

Your uncle wasn’t stupid. He knew he’d be found guilty no matter what. He would demand a trial through combat. You knew Jaime couldn’t fight for him. Not if he wanted to still be alive by the end of the week.

“Sister!” Tommen greeted happily as he entered the throne room. You had Lucia in your arms, holding her to you tightly as she slept.

“Tommen.” You greeted with a smile as he approached and gently took the little girl into his arms. She looked nothing like your family. Someone could be forgiven for thinking that he was holding a handmaiden’s bastard and not your own.

“Come, we should sit for the trial.”

You nodded and followed him to the throne, sitting down on a chair that had been placed next to his throne. Lucia peacefully sleeping in her uncle’s lap, the pink flower crown being the only thing that held down her light weight curls. Her light yellow, silk blanket was wrapped around her lazily as she rested. Tommen was one of her favorite people. She liked to be held by him and for him to play dolls with her, which he tried to do as often as he could.

You watched as Jaime walked in, with Tyrion behind him in chains and two guards behind Tyrion. Gods you hated this. Tyrion was a good man, he may have disliked his own nephew but he’d never kill him. Even if Joffrey had pushed him around whenever he found a good time to do it.

The scar healed even more than when you last saw him.

He was brought to the stand, the crowd murmuring around you, your grandfather standing behind you and to the side, between you and Tommen.

Tommen stood, and so did the rest of the room. Margaery and Loras to the other side of him. You didn’t want to be here but it was your duty.

“I, Tommen of the house Baratheon, First of my name, king of the andals and the first men, and lord of the seven kingdoms, do hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the house Lannister, hand of the king, Protector of the realm, will sit as judge in my stead.”

_Shit. Shit!_

“And with him, Oberyn of the house Martell, Lord Mace of the house Tyrell, and my sister, Y/N of the house Tyrell.”

Your blood went cold. You weren’t told about this, you weren’t told you had to judge your own family on wether or not he killed your brother, wether or not he was the murderer when you sat across from him, as the murderer.

You weren’t even on the council, you were a woman, Tywin had to have argued with this?

“And if found guilty… May the god punish the accused.”

Tommen then looked to your mother and passed Lucia over to her before leaving the throne room with guards following him.

Your grandfather sat down in the Iron chair, Mace next to you and Oberyn on the other side of your grandfather. You were shaking. How could Tommen think you were competent to judge?

You sat back down, zoning out on the floor. You held your hands in your lap before snapping out of it and looking at your uncle as your grandfather spoke

“Tyrion of the house Lannister, you stand accused by the Queen Regent of Regicide. Did you kill King Joffrey?”

 _No but I did._ You thought

Tyrion shook his head and looked down at the chains, he seemed to have the same emotions as you, upset and ready to throw a tomato just cause. Not out of anger, out of boredom.

“No.” He said aloud

“Did your wife, Lady Sansa?”

_No! I killed the king, I should be on the stand accused of regicide!_

“Not that I know of.” He responded blinking at your grandfather, you were certain that the look he was giving him would have gotten him smacked as a child.

“How would you say he died then?”

“Choked on his pigeon pie.”

“So you would blame the bakers?”

“Or the pigeons, just leave me out of it.”

You laughed slightly and could feel your mother’s glare as well as your grandfather’s.

“Call the first witness!”


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Ser Meryn had entered. And taken the stand. Of course, Ser Meryn hated your uncle, you didn’t know why but you knew he hated him.

“Once we’d got King Joffrey safely away from the mob, the Imp rounded on him. He slapped the king across the face and called him a vicious idiot and fool.”

He was a vicious idiot and a fool. Joffrey liked hurt people. He’s hurt Sansa mentally and physically and found joy in it. He’d found joy in threatening your daughter before she entered the world. He’d killed a cat at age five for gods sake.

You listened to the crowd gasp at the bit on information. Her Meryn would have brought up the time that Tyrion smacked Joffrey at Winterfell if he could. If he knew why Tyrion had left a red hand mark on the late king’s face.

“It wasn’t the first time the Imp threatened Joffrey. Right here in this throne room, he marched up those steps and called our king a halfwit. Compared his grace to the Mad King and suggested he’d meet the same fate.”

Didn’t he? Your dress was the same, the nice wine colored red with the gold embroidery of two stags, one on each shoulder, your legs crossed and hair still done.

Joffrey had met the same fate. Because of you and Olenna. You supposed it ran in your blood. Jaime had killed a king, you’d killed a king. So to whoever called Tyrion the kingslayer when he walked in, they should have called you that.

“When I spoke in the king’s defense, he threatened to have me killed”

“Oh, why don’t you tell them what Joffrey was doing?” Tyrion interrupted leaning against the side of his stand, bored.

“Silence!” Tywin stated firmly

You remembered exactly what Joffrey was doing. He had a crossbow in his arms, fully loaded. And Sansa almost stripped. The crossbow pointing to your friend.

“Pointing a loaded crossbow at Sansa Stark while you tore at her clothes and beat her.”

“Silence!”

Tyrion went quiet and looked at your grandfather.

“You will not speak unless called upon. You’re dismissed Ser Meryn.”

You watched as Ser Meryn turned around, helmet in his hand like and arrogant knight you’d see down in the streets of King’s Landing. A knight who’d never seen battle. You watched him walk away before looking at Tyrion with a smug smirk.

* * *

“Basilisk venom, widow’s blood, wolfsbane, essence of nightshade, sweetsleep, tears of Lys, demon’s dance … “

You huffed and leaned back in your chair as Grand Maester Pycelle mumbled to himself looking at the piece of paper he had. His hands were shaking as he tried to red whatever in the seven hells he’d written down,

“Blind eye—“

“I think you have made your point Grand Maester. You have a lot of poison in your store.” Oberyn interrupted also leaning back in his chair. But not out of frustration like you, more like out boredom, just like Tyrion was.

“Had, Prince Oberyn. My stores were plundered.” So that’s where Olenna got the poison? If you’d known how much poison Pycelle had, you would have poisoned Joffrey long ago.

“By whom?”

“By the accused, Tyrion Lannister, after he had me wrongfully imprisoned.”

Pycelle looked back at Tyrion with just as much hate as Ser Meryn had. But this was for a different reason, not because he ‘killed’ Joffrey, because he had put him in a cell.

“Grand Maester, you examined King Joffrey’s corpse. Was it without question poison that killed him?”

“Without question.”

You closed your eyes and rubbed your face before looking at Pycelle, equal hate in your eyes that everyone was showing Tyrion.

“This was found on the body of Dontos Hollard, the King’s fool.”

You looked as Pycelle brought out a necklace. The necklace Sansa had been wearing. Damnit. How had he been killed?

“He was last seen spiriting Sansa Stark, the wife of the accused away from the feast. She wore this necklace the day of the wedding. Residue of a most rare and terrible poison was found inside.”

You looked down at your feet, feeling your blood run cold and your heart drop down into your gut. You were ready to jump from the highest window.

“Was this once of the poisons stolen from your store?”

“It was. The Strangler. A poison few in the Seven Kingdoms possess. And used to strike down the most noble child the gods ever put on this good earth.”

* * *

“I will hurt for this. A day will come when you think you are safe and happy and your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth and you will know the debt is paid.”

You shared a glance with your mother. She’d taken the stand and stood like the grieving mother she was. You hated her. The gods knew you hated her. But you loved her all the same. She was your mother, she was the reason you walked the earth. She’d done everything she could to protect you and Lucia. You were in her debt, if it weren’t for her stopping Pycelle at the door, you were sure you’d be walking the streets yourself starving. That Lucia would have already died of starvation.

“Your own brother said this to you?” Mace questioned leaning forward in his chair.

Your mother nodded with tears in her eyes “Shortly before the battle of Blackwater Bay. I confronted him about his plans to put Joffrey on the front lines. As it turned out when the battle came, Joff insisted on remaining at the battlements. He believed his presence would inspire the troops.”

“Tyrion said, ‘and you will know the debt is paid.’ What debt?”

“I discovered he’d been keeping whores in the Tower of the Hand. I asked him to confine his salacious acts to the brothel where such behavior belongs. He wasn’t pleased.”

* * *

You never thought you’d glare at Varys the way you were now. Your hands tightly gripping the arms rests of your chair, so tightly your knuckles turned white and your nails started to bend as you tried to dig them in

“He said ‘Perhaps you should speak more softly to me, then. Monsters are dangerous and just now kings are dying like flies.’”

“He said this to you at a meeting of the small council?” You asked venom in your voice as you gritted your teeth.

“Yes, after we received word of Robb Stark’s death. He didn’t seem gladdened by the news. Perhaps his marriage to Sansa Stark had made him more sympathetic to the northern cause.”

You were going to kill him. You were so sure of it. If he said one more word you were going to put a dagger between his eyes. He was supposed to help you get Tyrion out, not to have him hung.

“The crown may call it’s next witness.”

Your eyes went wide as you saw Shae, make her way to the stand. Hands folded in front of her and clearly ready to put whatever bullshit she may have had on Tyrion out to the public.

And she did, she stated lies about him, one after another Every single one you knew was a lie. Tyrion was getting angry, you could see it. You were beginning to get angry.

“Father, I wish…To confess.”

You could see Jaime look at Tyrion, look at him as if he was crazy. Tyrion was going to get out of this, you had already begun to get everything planned. Varys had told you he had everything on his end of the deal.

“You wish to confess?”

Tyrion turned to the murmuring crowd, his jaw clenched as he did,

“I saved you, I saved this city and all your worthless lives. I should have let Stannis kill you all.”

Tyrion stood from his stand, facing the crowd, you could feel tears welling up in your own eyes, out of frustration you shook your head. He was being stupid.

“Tyrion” Tywin said “Do you wish to confess?”

Tyrion looked ready to put an arrow through your grandfather’s head. Not that you weren’t either. Two years ago you wouldn’t think about hurting your family. But things had changed. A war, a birth of a Bastard between Lannister and Stark who’d you’d named Lucia. And the death of kings. Renly, and Robb. The threatening of your daughter’s life to be ended by Joffrey had made the true lion come out. It had laid dormant before. But the moment Lucia had gasped for air and begun crying, it had woken.

“Yes, Father. I’m guilty. Guilty. Is that what you want to hear?”

Damnit Tyrion.

“You admit you poisoned the king?”

“No, of that I’m innocent. I’m guilty of a far more monstrous crime. I am guilty of being a dwarf.”

You shook your head and pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a sigh of frustration. You wanted to start laughing at how frustrating it was. Or was the urge to scream instead?

“You are not on trial for being a dwarf.” Tywin said amused.

“Oh, yes, I am. I’ve been on trial for that my entire life.”

“Have you nothing to say in your defense?” You demanded slamming your hand down that had been on your nose onto the arm of your chair. Tyrion looked to you and gave you a smile before looking at Tywin.

“Nothing but this— I did not do it.” He looked to you again a smile plastered on his face again. You tilted your head as a question. A question of if he was really pulling this stunt that would surly have him hung within the week.

“I did not kill Joffrey, but I wish that I had.” He turned to your mother and practically yelled it at your mother, who already looked like she was crying.

“Watching your vicious bastard die gave me more relief than 1,000 lying whores.”

You huffed and crossed your arms. You wanted to smack him. Gods did you want to hit him. The crowd began to get loud, and he looked back at him.

Don’t add fuel to the fire people.

“I wish I was the monster you think I am. I wish I had enough poison for the whole pack of you. I would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it!”

“Ser Meryn! Ser Meryn! Escort the prisoner back to his cell.”

“I will not give my life for Joffrey’s murder. And I know I’ll get no justice here.”

You stood up next to your grandfather, your dress falling back into place around your feet.

“Tyrion! That’s enough!”

He only looked at you and shook his head.

“I will let the gods decide my fate. I demand, a trial by combat.”

You could feel your blood begin to boil and your heart pick up pace. You glared at Tyrion and shook your head. He wasn’t going to win this, not with your mother on the other side.


	20. Chapter Twenty

You didn’t want to speak with him. You understood he was angry, so were you. You knew your mother well. Of course you did, you’d been raised by her. She’d kept you and Myrcella by her side every moment of everyday when you were young. You could now see the moments when she was plotting. Not just the look she wore, the one with her brows raised as she took in whatever information she could use to her advantage.

You had the same look on your face when you plotted. Tyrion was right. You were more like Cersei than you had ever wanted to admit. You had her shade of gold that graced each strand of hair on your head. You had her eyebrow color and often made the same facial expressions. And you were as protective of Lucia as she had been with you.

You were her first girl. The first little girl she’d had held in her arms that was her own. From the very moment she’d laid her eyes on you she had seen your hair. A head full of it unlike Joffrey had just eleven months earlier.

You supposed Lucia had gotten that from you. The thick hair that had begun to weigh down her curls to her ears. How stubborn she was to learn how to walk on her own. Whenever you or Loras tried to help her up after she fell she would yell “No!” In her voice that didn’t intimidate anyone like she tried for it to.

She’d learned quickly. Often grabbing on the windowsill where you’d sit and she’d stand there, before pushing herself off and walking full speed to you, who sat on the other end of the room waiting for her to get fully to you. And whenever she fell, she’d crawl back over to the windowsill and try again. Starting over completely even if she was more than halfway to you.

But that didn’t matter as you stood across from Tyrion, hands on your hips and a stern facial expression resting on your face.

“My mother will have someone stronger than Bronn go against whoever you choose!” You practically yelled.

The sunlight came in through the small window that was at the top of the wall. Something Tyrion couldn’t reach. And of course a few missing stones from the wall that allowed sun in as well.

“No. No one’s stronger than you.” He teased with a smirk

“I will not represent you. My mother would have your head if even suggested it to her. To have me hold a sword in front of all the lords and ladies of King’s Landing! She’ll trap me in my room before I ever hold a sword in her presence!”

Tyrion shook his head and he rolled his eyes. “I know that! But if you could fight for me… Would you?”

You looked at Tyrion and nodded. You didn’t even have to think about it. You knew you would. He knew it too. He’d seen you with a sword. He’d seen you with Jon when you two first met. He saw you with Jaime when he taught you how to fight with one.

“You know I would.”

He nodded to himself and stood to look out the window he couldn’t reach

“How is my grandniece?”

“She’s two now. She turned two yesterday, at dawn.”

He turned to you with a small smile and said “Tell her happy name day for me?”

You nodded and went to the built in seating in the cell and sat on the stone. You rested your hands in your lap, clasped together as you looked down at the dirty floor.

“You never did tell me the story of her birth. I know the story of everyone’s birth in our family. Father always told me about mine. Saying it was the worst one. He talked about Cersei and Jaime’s happily. And Jaime told me of Joffrey’s. Yours, he always seemed to light up whenever he talked about your birth. I didn’t know why until… He told me about Myrcella’s birth and of Tommen’s. But you’ve never told me of her’s.”

You hated to think about it. Every time you thought about it you could still see it. The sight of looking down between your legs where you had placed Lucia to catch your breath. Seeing her eyes shut tightly and the cord wrapped around her neck… Her face turning purple. It made you choke up. It made you want to ball your eyes out.

“Another time. You have bigger things to worry about than the story of my daughter’s birth.” You said walking to the door. Wrapping your hand around the handle before turning back to him.

“I know you didn’t do it. I know you didn’t kill Joffrey.” You breathed out.

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

* * *

“Mama!”

You turned your head to see Lucia waddling over to you in her night gown she’d surly grow out of in a month.

You leaned down to pick her up from the ground and she placed her small hand on your cheek with a wide smile that she could now control since she was older.

“Hello Luci.” You greeted pushing back her dark curls from her face and walked over to the bed you now shared with her. Loras still sleeping in his separate chambers.

She’d grown so much. You knew. You knew that if Jon could see her, he’d be just as in love as you were. Her dimples that were placed so perfectly on her cheeks, dimples she surly didn’t get from Jon or you.

The little teeth always showing when she smiled as widely as she was now. She was the ray of sunshine in your life. Her big brown eyes showing you what Jon had left you with when you went your separate ways

You set her down on the bed and watched her shuffle over to the pillows and lay her head down on them as you brought the covers over her small body.

“Sing a song!” She exclaimed happily reaching a small pale hand out for your larger one to take. You sat next to her and took her small hand in yours and made her mover over so you could lay down next to her. And you rested your head next hers and pulled her close to your chest and looked down at her. Playing with the unruly curls.

“Castamere or Tree?”

“Castmer!”

She couldn’t pronounce it. And it was one of things she would grow out of. One day. You nodded and took in a breath

“Who are you? The proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat. That’s all the truth I know”

She blinked up at you. One of her small hands resting on your chest and the other on her own cheek as she listened to you

“A coat of gold, a coat of red, a lion still has claws and mine are long, and sharp my lord, as long and sharp as yours. And so he spoke, and so he spoke.”

Lucia’s eyes began to droop as she listened to your voice. The one she’d been hearing everyday since the day she was born.

“That lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o’er his halls. With no one there to hear. Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall, with not a soul to hear.”

You smiled as you felt her even breaths against your hand as it rested on her back.

She was your most prized possession, the only one you’d ever think about dying for.

You needed to get her out of the Red Keep.

* * *

The bell tolled.

You had walked to the floor. The same floor Joffrey had died on and watched as they prepared. The Mountain with his armor and sword, and Oberyn, no armor and Ellaria by his side. You stood by them. Having left Lucia with Jaime who was now sitting with her in his lap and trying to entertain her so she wouldn’t watch the fight.

Your hopes were with Oberyn. You hoped he got revenge for his sister and her children today. You hoped he got the eye for an eye he wanted. If not for himself, for Tyrion’s life.

“Very light armor.” Tyrion commented as he was guided up to the floor. You where sitting down and looked to Tyrion who seemed to be judging Oberyn immensely for whatever he was currently doing, which was drinking

“You shouldn’t drink before a fight.”

“You learn that through your years in the fighting pits?” Oberyn asked as he leaned in to kiss Ellaria.

“I always drink before a fight.”

“It could get you killed, it could get me killed”

“Uncle, please.” You pleaded calmly. You had a brave face on, but gods you were terrified. You’d never seen a man killed in a battle. You’d seen a head in the throne room as a child. You’d watched as Ned Stark was murdered by Illyn Payne. You watched Joffrey die in this very place.

“In the sights of gods and men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this… man Tyrion Lannister. May the mother grant them mercy.” Pycelle said in the middle of the court before he moved to his seat. Very slowly might you add.

You saw Oberyn and Ellaria kiss once more before he took his weapon and went to the center. Gregor already making his way there with his sword already in hand.

It was a constant swinging of spear and sword. Oberyn constantly dodging and the mountain constantly trying to hit him. He was quick on his feet, you’d say that.

A constant back and forth conversation before they would begin swinging at each other again. Oberyn trying to get Gregor to confess to what he had done to Ellia Martell. The wife of Rheagar Targaryen.

You jumped a little as Oberyn knocked the helmet off Gregor’s head, you’d only ever seen the mountain bested once, and that was by Loras. But it wasn’t in a fighting pit. It was in jousting.

Your hand went to cover your mouth as Gregor broke Oberyn’s spear. You could see Lucia watching scared as she held onto Jaime’s clothing and tried to pull herself closer to him.

Oberyn’s squire tossed him yet another spear for his weapon.

You could see Oberyn stab the mountain in the gut with the spear and move quickly so he couldn’t catch him off guard. He couldn’t start to get cocky.

You’d grimaced as you saw Oberyn slice through the back of the mountain’s calf. You could hear the sound of steel meeting bone and it sent child down your spine and through your legs.

You watched as Gregor kneeled down, unable to stand now.

“You raped her! You murdered her!” Oberyn screamed as he ran and plunged his spear deep into his chest. Blood begins spit out of Gregor’s mouth as his head his the stone flooring.

He was going to far now. Circling his already down body, demanding that he confess to what he’d done. To what he’d done more than 19 years ago. He’d killed her, even you knew that. There were songs about the murders of the Targaryens.

You didn’t expect your own scream. The scream that was forced from your lips out of shock as Gregor kicked in the back of Oberyn’s legs, knocking him to the ground. He had to move quickly. He was quick on his feet.

But Gregor had grabbed him and punched him so hard teeth had been knocked out. Your mouth was agape as you watched Gregor place his hands over Oberyn’s face and begin to place pressure.

You shook your head as you saw him start to dig his fingers into Oberyn’s eyes. Blood pooling in his socket and then falling around to his hair and ears.

Oberyn was screaming and you could hear Lucia begin to scream and cry as she tried to get out of Jaime’s arms and get to you. Whenever she was scared she always wanted to be near you. You were her go to.

And Gregor confessed. He confessed to what he’d done to Ellia. Right before he crushed in Oberyn’s skull. You could hear the sound of the skull cracking under the pressure and the sound of his brain being squished. And you just watched. You had nothing to say. He had children. He didn’t deserve to die. He had eight daughters who needed a father still.

You’d never heard Lucia scream for you so loudly

“Mama!”

You were shaking.

You all needed to leave. Tyrion, Varys, Lucia and you. You all needed to leave.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

Lucia had fallen asleep. Her long eyelashes brushing against her chubby cheeks. Nothing but the fire illuminating the room as she laid in the bed on her stomach. The fire crackling being the only sound in your chamber other than your rummaging through clothes to find a dress to change Lucia into.

You’d found a simple pink one Olenna had gifted Lucia for her second name day. You stood up and walked to the bed gently shaking her awake

“Lucia, babe. It’s time to wake up.” You whispered. Her eyes fluttered open and her brows furrowed as she saw how dark it still was.

“Mama? It dark?”

You nodded and gave her a smile as you held up the pink dress. “Lets get you dressed?” You offered.

She mumbled something you couldn’t hear. But you scooped her up into your arms and then placed her on the stone flooring. Her eyes staying closed as you had her put on her dress. But she then sat down on the stone and rubbed the sleep from her eyes and watched you wearily as you packed up a small bag of her clothing and a few dresses for yourself.

She stood once more and waddled over to you her dress disheveled from how lazily she’d throne it on.

“Mama? Where we go?”

You paused and looked down at her. Her hair was a mess, as it usually was. The small little blue bags under her eyes more obvious in the dimmer light. You bent down to her level fixing the skirt of her dress and smiled at her

“We’re going far away, pick a toy or two to take.”

She nodded and shuffled her way to the basket of toys. She picked out the wooden rose she’d gotten so long ago. And a doll that Loras had given her. She walked to you and held up the toys. You took them and placed them in the bag and threw the bag over your shoulder.

You walked quickly to the edge of the bed picking up a blanket that had been placed there by Miza that morning. She’d known what you were up to. And she was aiding you. Covering all of your tracks. You’d told her to tell everyone.

* * *

“Miza, I need your help.”

She paused from doing up the back of your dress and looked at you over your shoulder and into the mirror.

“What do you need my lady?”

“I’m leaving tonight. And I need your help.”

She nodded into the mirror and began to ask

“What can I do?”

“I need a blanket that will hide Lucia. I need a cloak, and…”

“And?”

“I need you to tell everyone who her father is. Tell them that Jon Snow is the father of Lucia Tyrell.”

* * *

You wrapped the blanket around Lucia and picked her up. Her arms had wrapped around around your neck and her head rested on your shoulder as you walked to the door and opened it. This would be the last time you’d have to hear those damned hinges squeak again.

The last time you would ever have to sleep in that room. You’d rushed down the corridor to the exit of the castle. You’d never walked so fast in your life. There’d never been a need for a fast walk.

And when you arrived to the docks, Lord Varys was already there. A crate with your uncle in it already being loaded onto the ship.

“Lord Varys.” You greeted hearing the soft snores of Lucia in your ear.

“Lady Y/N. You should get onto the ship.”

You nodded and walked to the ramp to get onto the ship. Lucia was sound asleep when you found the crate Tyrion was in, and you sat down next to it with her sitting in your lap her head against your chest as she slept.

And then you could hear a bell begin to ring

“What did you do?” You asked Tyrion through the box

“What had to be done” He responded.

* * *

You looked at Lucia, she was laying down on top the crate that Tyrion was in, Varys asleep next to the crate with a large stick like objects wrapped in a cloth next to him that he’d brought onto the ship with him.

You slowly stood up as not to wake them and grabbed your bag. You had given Lucia her doll so she could sleep, and you made your way to the other side of the ship, towards the quarter deck, where no one was. You walked to the edge, leaning against the half wooden wall and took off the hood of your cloak.

Your golden hair down and around your shoulders and reaching your hips. You’d never once cut it. It hung well below your lower back.

Hesitantly you reached into your bag, grabbing the handle of the dagger. The gold handle with gems imbedded in the hilt.

You brought it out looking at the sharp edge that had remained from your little to no use of it. You let out a shaky breath, watching as it turned into visible air. The sound of water making you feel calm, but the rocking of the ship making you feel woozy. You’d never been on a ship. You’d never left Westeros. You never imagined you’d go to Pentos.

You needed a new start.

Grabbing a chunk of gold hair from your chest and brought the gold dagger up behind it. You were letting go of everything. You had to let go of Jon, you still hadn’t fully let him go. You had to let go of the love you once held for your brother. How kind he once was to you as children. He would laugh if you tripped, or stumbled, but he would always help you back up. He had sprinted to get your mother and the maester whenever you had scraped yourself. He changed when he turned twelve. He grew cold towards you, to everyone. Of course he’d had his issues before.

Jon. You had nothing of him but your daughter. And the more she grew, she began acting more like you. The more her facial features resembled you. She had his coloring. But she was yours. She was a child you were raising. You had nothing of him. All you had to remember of him, was the length of your hair.

* * *

He was playing with your hair, combing his fingers through it and taking chunks of your hair and braiding it back like Arya, Lady Catelyn and Sansa often had it. And you let him as you read your books you’d borrowed from Maester Luwin who happily gave them to you.

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you so obsessed with touching my hair?”

It was true. He often even just brushed it behind your ear when it decided to be unruly and go wherever it wanted to go in front of your face whenever you ran around in the forest with him playing childish games.

He’d only smiled and leaned towards your beck resting his head next to yours, chin on your shoulder. You could feel him breath against your skin.

“Because.It’s perfect for a princess. Long, and golden. Braided and done up in southern styles even when you’re in the north. The way it frames your face, and goes over your shoulders. Like the Maine of a little lion.”

* * *

You let out a breath, letting the dagger slice through your hair. You weren’t a princess. You’d let go of him. You’d let go of everything you knew willingly the moment you’d met him. Now you had to painfully let go of everything you tried to hold onto.

You pulled the chunk of hair you were holding away from your remaining hair and dropped it over the ship.

You’d sliced through every chunk of hair you’d grabbed. The wavy hair landing at your shoulders once you were done.

You didn’t know what you were.

Were you a Baratheon?

Were you a Tyrell?

No. You knew what you were. It was in your blood. No matter how much you wanted to deny it. You were like your mother. Protective of the thing you’d made with your own body in the corse of nine months and brought into the world.

You were a Lion.

Not a Little Lion.

Cersei wasn’t as much of a lion like she wanted to be. She was what the lions feared. The intruder in the den.

You were The Lion.


End file.
